Thinking Outside The Prompt… Reply


The squeaky noise of pedals
as I get closer to destination
point A to point B
The bosque
Near the Rio Grande river 
The sun
hot sun of new mexico
It is winter
and you are missed
Long rides
Thoughts forgotten
Taken away with the wind
blowing from the east side
as I escape from the west
The poor side of town
The south valley
the sand against my skin
the farm looking area
it is where the technology is missing
where the ghetto Walmart is at
but , but, i will go wherever my wheels take me
10 miles a day
my old Schwinn
not too sophisticated recycled 
thrown away by its previous owners
Ancient frame
torn our wheel
taped up to keep the air in that no ceiling can resist
not the one from bike world
not even the one from Team O
no money can afford the joy of the time spent together
cold air
sweat dripping
bad combination that will get you sick
sickness that will make you fall asleep
sleep that will bring you peace
in peace you will be
Ode to Bicycles

Bicycles are great
Riding puts you in such a free state
Bicycles come in all shapes and sizes
You can have it with one wheel, two wheels or three
Training wheels are wonderful
Then it is time to let them go
Bicycles allow you to breathe the fresh, crisp air
Feel the wind in your hair
They are there for you to get exercise
They are there for your transportation
Bicycle rides can be for a cause
Bicycle races are fun too
Now you have to be careful
There are cars on the road
Watch out for you
Cause they might not
Just like today
That truck pulled out right in front of me
I couldn’t stop fast enough.
I remember a time when I was looked at for the color of my skin and the origin of my last name.
Privileged Mexican nobody sit next to him.
Chicano Hispanic whatever you tag you want to slap on me
like the slaps from the hands that told you, you were wrong.
Slapped from the hands that didn’t known the little Mexican boy
was being slapped around emotionally much like a roller coaster he, lost it all.
He saw the fall, of his parent’s marriage that devastated them all.
Which led to even worse things that even tale can’t make them small.
Dad from Mexico didn’t want the children learning Spanish because it wasn’t American.
So here I am proud of my identity yet lacking because I’m considered to not be brown enough. It’s like a dagger straight to my gut because I didn’t give up on who I am and where I came from.
I’ve decided I can’t be Chicano enough. I don’t wear the same clothes
or speak the language of my ancestors fluently other than orale and,
get out of my way. But I was taught my papa, being a Hispanic man
was more than what we had bargained for. Papa, grandpa, abuelo worked hard for the union.
Worked so hard for the rights he lost and won plenty of fights
but the might he conveyed was beyond that of a sun’s bright light
and to his delight he raised his family right. It meant living a justified life not being blinded by the lies of civil rights and helping those who need it regardless of whether they were wrong or right. Or black and white.
It meant integrity and truth beyond the voice spoken but in the action
presented and resented by others because I’m not Mexican enough.
Been working hard since I was 15 because my father inspired me
that picking strawberries in the fields of California was worth the green.
Mi mama taught me you be proud of who are and what ethics you’ve been raised with.
Te quiero mama.
Taught me how to cook and how to look like someone who could change the world if it only started by reading a book. So I took what I could and set off to change my own Mexican look. What I found was not defined by stereotypes but by a person who could be the truth. Who would change truth, and it started with a Chicano youth.


If Only Is Better Than Not Lonely
If only his heart wasn’t such a disaster
from the plaster placed on his wounds
made by his father and mother who wanted the best
but gave him some of the worst times
that he had ever witnessed in his short lived life.
If only his friends could have been better
to him but instead the pressure was too much
and the endless explosion of poison consumed
into his fragile body left him motionless
on the floor where they passed out on.
If only the teachers took the time and listened
to his numerous cries for help that haunted
their own dreams and terror of knowing
that they could have done something to help
the innocent mold of a human.
If only he didn’t care so much about the fact
that his life would never change
and the only thing that he could change
was whether or not he wanted to live it
or live beneath what he fell so hard on.
If only there was moment in time
where instead of taking the destructive pills
and falling in love with the cold, rough tip
of the blade that fell so heavy on his wrists
that he may have realized that some people
cared about him more than themselves.
If only he understood the harsh reality
of not giving up and giving in was the truth
behind living a life that sought for hope
beyond religion and false characters
that made him feel incapable.
If only the music that he listened to meant more
than broken promises of changing the world
and the world that was supposed to be changed
was actually made good before it became better.
If only his heart didn’t carry the weight
of three other acquaintances who lost
their way as young as he did but rather
his heart yearned for the same execution
that took his will to live and forget.
If only he talked or wrote to someone
who truly cared about his existence
and did not care who he was or where
he had been throughout his empty
life that was filled with the crippled past.
If only time stood in between him and past.
If only he lived another day,
I could have showed him the way.
But living with the thoughts of if only,
Will cause a man to die lonely.

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