Tag: alyssa

by ALYSSA

Love
is a joke to be told
amongst elder souls.
A joke not probably understood by adolescence.

Love
is a painful excuse
for lust to spread profusely
amongst youth
to be creating premature pregnancy.

Love
is something intangible to me:
It’s something I feel,
but something foreign.

Love
is a painful reminder
that no one understands
the true heart grinder.

Love
is what I thought I felt for father
until he crushed my trust
and denied mom’s proffer.

Love
is what I thought I felt before,
until I couldn’t take it anymore,
and love met his cousin death.

Love
is what I think I feel now,
but I don’t trust myself or him
because Love is a cruel miser
I’m afraid to deal with again.

Love
is a shameful,
joking feeling
that tears us apart
while pulling us closer.

by ALYSSA

Will you miss me when I’m gone?
Soon, like the noon breeze
I’ll be gone.
I’ll be down south
in Arkansas
enjoying the trees,
but lamenting the loss
of these friends
who have stayed so dear to me.

Will it even make a difference when I’m gone?

Probably not,
but I gave my heart to this school.
Now it seems all for naught
because after a lot of thought,
I’m just cutting my losses.
I’m abandoning hope,
like all ye
entering here should.
Teachers to be gone,
rights to be wronged,
a future to be longed for,
and I won’t be one more number
lost in the chaotic throng.
Downpour:
raining tears hard
on my heavy heart for
this goodbye
because I didn’t make a greater difference.

Will my absence make a difference?

When I’m gone,
from here to conservative southland,
will my migration
strike heartstrings in the administration?
Course not.
130301
peace.

by ALYSSA

Verdammt Dich!
I’m sorry,
but I’d rather not argue
with some one half of my IQ.
The way I fight,
you’re guaranteed to lose.
It’s a battle of wits,
but you came unarmed.
When this conversation started,
no one meant you any harm.

We came to talk about school,
but then you came in,
because you thought you were cool;
Guess what:
you’re not smart.
I’m sorry; ‘s that your ignorance showing?
Don’t even start.
You’ve got stereotypes down to a fine art,
and on behalf
of all the people you claimed were represented,
I apologize for this daft,
rude,
lowlife who’s so crude.

Verdammt Dich!
I’m sorry,
but I’d rather not argue
with some one half of my IQ.
The way I fight,
you’re guaranteed to lose.
It’s a battle of wits,
but you came unarmed.
When this conversation started,
no one meant you any harm.

You thought you’d be impressing your friends
by “intelligently” addressing a trend
in my behavior

“…brown-nosing nerdy white bitch – no one cares about you…”
ah,
but how untrue
There’s a difference between brown-nosing and being polite
and a difference between bitching and knowing what’s right.
You may say no one cares about me,
but you’re just looking for a fight,
and besides,
I’ll always love me,
so I don’t care.
As for being white,
let make you wiser for wear.
You may find specificity is key here:
I
am
Mexican, Russian, German, Native American, and Irish.
Half of this ‘white’ background of mine isn’t really Anglo,
and they share suffering and pain through history
as every other race,
because they all have a story:
Mexican workers movement
Soviet Union
Hitler’s Oppression,
Trail of tears,
“Before the Irish Became White”,
anything ring a bell?!

No?
Of course not I shouldn’t think so highly.
Ugh!

I guess my point is just
that to me,
it’s still a mystery
why you use your ancestor’s history
as an excuse for your foolish strife,
as a reason to hold on to racism
when we just want to let it go.
No,
I won’t fight you,
and further than this,
I won’t spite you.
(mostly because it’s a waste of breath)
I just want you to know that you’re hurting yourself,
not resolving the conflict we came here for.

by ALYSSA

This is my Earth,
and I live in it.
it’s big and round and travels at an amazing pace best felt near the Ocean.
It’s big and full of idiots and geniuses,
of craziness and calm,
and of beauty and the contrary.
This is my planet.
It’s where I’ll spend a vast majority of my life.
It’s not perfect,
but it’s mine.

This is my country,
and I live in it.
It’s pretty big,
and it’s ruled by fools,
but it’s free and beautiful the same.
This is my country,
where I spend the vast majority of my time.
It’s not perfect,
but it’s mine.

This is my school,
it’s been through a lot,
like an old marching sock,
and it’s starting to change from my home.
This is my school.
It’s where I spend a vast majority of my time.
It’s not perfect,
but it’s mine.

This is my body,
and I try to change it,
but it doesn’t say a thing about me.
It doesn’t always work like I want it to.
This is my body.
It’s where I spend a vast majority of my time.
It’s not perfect,
but it’s mine.

This is my mind.
It’s where all my crazy ideas and plans are hatched,
where all your hideous cruelty is seen and matched,
and it’s where I can hide,
with my best friends:
me myself and I.
This is my mind.
It’s where I spend a vast majority of my time.
It’s not perfect,
but it’s mine.

by ALYSSA

Do you remember?
Just a few years back,
I was in a middle class,
the shortest of the lot…

Do you remember?
When everything was maybe not simple,
but it all made sense?
Back when R-E-S-P-E-C-T wasn’t just a song.

Do you remember?
Sitting in a circle and making beats together,
back when we were all friends AND family?
When music is a way of life?

Do you remember?
Me?
A sweet little girl, not even 13?
A hyper tiny dreamer and her dingy alto sax?

Do you remember?
The music we played,
and the songs we sang,
dancing around our heads like Apaches?

I…
I am remembering…
A time where dreams became reality,
because we made it so.

I am remembering
a time when that dingy alto sax
was equal to a bit of cash
on the street corner, if you played well enough.

I am remembering
a time when there was no such thing as being “fake,”
because labels didn’t matter
unless it was your name.

I..
I don’t want to remember…
Was I a fist-fighter?
A rebel?

I don’t want to remember…
I was younger,
my dad was abusive,
our tears filled that fire’s hunger…

I don’t want to remember,
how even when I was bad,
I was good,
a vigilante for the weak.

You see,
it’s these,
these memories,
ghosts of the past that make us who we are.
We learn, live, and grow.
That was yesterday,
but what about
Tomorrow?