I drive down the onramp to merge into L.A. traffic

A greying haired middle aged man does not want to let me in.

Forced onto the curb of the the freeway I turn and look at him.

He is staring at me

And a blanche, passionless, gaunt middle finger waves in my direction

 

I look back for another couple of minutes and smile as I drive on the edge of the freeway still.

 

An excitement runs through me

A fierce rushing of blood.

I am the Polynesian heroes of my youth.

I am the Anglo-Saxon legends of my ancestors.

I am an African-Brazilian of utter defiance and survival.

I feel their spirits deep, comfortable

I am from the pure earth of the south pacific

I am from the hardened rock of northern Europe.

I have water in me from the raging Amazon.

I am crafted from powerful dust

And none shall defy me.

 

I roll down my window

And lock eyes with the man slowly becoming a boy.

 

I am ready for war

I have been melded in battle

I bring blood and fire

 

I show him my Pūkana

 

My ancestors envelop him

 

He sharply turns and looks at his steering wheel

Slowly brakes

And never looks back up

 

I am all that I have been.


   
  
 
  
    
  
 Normal 
 0 
 
 
 
 
 false 
 false 
 false 
 
 EN-US 
 JA 
 X-NONE 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 /* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
	{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
	mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
	mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
	mso-style-noshow:yes;
	mso-style-priority:99;
	mso-style-parent:"";
	mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
	mso-para-margin:0in;
	mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
	mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
	font-size:12.0pt;
	font-family:Cambria;
	mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
	mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
	mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
	mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
 
     

 

I never fit into this culture

And the beauty of that

Is that I learned

to be my own culture


   
  
 
  
    
  
 Normal 
 0 
 
 
 
 
 false 
 false 
 false 
 
 EN-US 
 JA 
 X-NONE 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 /* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
	{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
	mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
	mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
	mso-style-noshow:yes;
	mso-style-priority:99;
	mso-style-parent:"";
	mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
	mso-para-margin:0in;
	mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
	mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
	font-size:12.0pt;
	font-family:Cambria;
	mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
	mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
	mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
	mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
 
     

 

It hurts to try and fly

and keep getting shot out of the sky

 

It hurts to try and swim

and keep getting tangled in a net

 

It hurts to try and float

while others paddle

past in a boat

 

this new place hurts

while I grow.

PoppiesPoem-2.jpg

How tall are the poppies where you are?

Where I’m from when a poppy grows too tall

You cut it so the others don’t attempt to rise that high

 

Where I live now, the tallest poppies suck the life from the roots of the shortest

But somehow everyone still loves the tall poppies

 

I think I’ll be a wildflower

And never think about my height

 


IMG_8813 2.jpg

A madness arises slowly,

Like the skyscrapers off the 110

My bones don’t really know me

As I settle into the city’s sin

My mind numbs gently

As the smog creeps in


Self-promote,

Become the proudest version of yourself

Self-promote

Become louder than your work

Self-promote

The world has to know

Who you are

Success never comes if nobody knows

Who am I?

Self-deprecate

I minimize myself for arts sake.

Self-deprecate

I make something amazing but you might hate.

Self-deprecate

This society has me feeling everything is fake.

Self-deprecate


Untitled1.jpg

They left me stranded in the wild

They didn’t know that’s where I’m from

They left me stranded

Oh, they left me stranded at home.


1D2A7010.jpg

It got so warm

poems didn’t come out of me anymore

exceot

in sweat

clammy, damp

salty

poems

dripping from me

exhausted, beat up

poems

 

I didn’t know this heat

I was from a rainforest.

------- AFTERWORD -------