The American Dream is not what it seems
for a green haze muddles my gaze
and I fail to see the world around me.

I am an ignorant American.

I quickly waste what’s on my plate
with nary a thought of those who have naught.
I live in a bubble; refuse to see trouble.

I am an ignorant American.

A Cuban man held up a sign that read “Abajo Fidel” in the backstop of the World Baseball Classic game of Cuba verses the Netherlands. It was plain as day, for the world to see. Cuban officials tried unsuccessfully to get the sign removed from the spot. Instead, the Puerto Rican police escorted the Cuban officials away from the man. I was pretty moved by this demonstration of free speech. Here’s a poem I jotted down that night in my newly christened “Carry-wherever-I-go-book” (After years of keeping one, I still need a better name for it).

¡ABAJO FIDEL!
He holds the sign well,
hot dog in hand,
with a lot of Hormel.

¡ABAJO FIDEL!
A real infidel,
in Cuba he’d be
thrown in a jail cell.

¡ABAJO FIDEL!
Cuba tried to expel
his ass from the game
but removed themselves.

Cuban personnelle
threatened him as well,
saying that they would
beat him to hell.

Over the crowd’s yells
of “Cuba, farewell!”,
the Cuban commotion
Cops tried to dispel.

¡ABAJO FIDEL!
O, there on the telo’
for the world to see
their leader so yellow.

¡ABAJO FIDEL!
We’re lucky we dwell,
in this country where
free speech works so well.

he’s quick to judge and quicker to cringe
he holds a grudge against this hell he’s in
too critical. must stop.
nonsensical. please stop.
it’s trival. so stop!
nobody’s perfect and that’s their fault. halt!
it’s pitiful.

I can’t live.
I can’t think.
The heat, normally fine,
suffocates me.

Music is my salvation.
I can escape
to another world.
Where I make the rules.

An unattainable feat.
Like holding back tears
from the rims of your eyes.
Like holding your breath
until slowly you die.
Like looking above
to find the end of the sky.

The heat subsides
to leave me drenched in sweat.
Sweat, with no intention
of drying.
Sweat, soon mixed with
my crying.
Sweat that’ll leave residue.
A sign.
Hold on.
Back up.
Get outta this place.
Hold up.
Back out.
An’ try to save face.

You must not again walk
this line.

is it you
or is it
the image of you
that i so painfully construed

is it love
or is it
the feeling of love
that i so achingly ensued

beyond comprehension
…i am confused.

i feel you
when im running on fumes.
for miles
and miles and miles

and i am refueled.

Can’t shake that image
Burnt into my head
Of you and me and yesterday
and all that i regret.

angry
when i see the way he says he loves you

i can’t think
that someone loves you more than i do.

disilluioned by the love that never happened
thinkin you wanted me long ago
when in fact the surf around me crashin
in the world built for us i am alone

i thought this world was still a safe haven
i sought the sandy banks and still i yearned
that love that never was i still am cravin
disillusioned now, disillusioned now it burns