Free Writing I.E.

Free writing the I.E.
When I think of the I.E., I think of noisy crowded streets, honking, shouts, screeching tires and the finger. I think of big freeways, traffic jams, speeding tickets, and car accidents. I think of orange smog, asthma, wet trashy gutters and recycling beer cans. I think of downtown riverside and the luxurious Mission Inn, my schools, and how many people live here. The people here are fast and business oriented, in the sense that they are after their best interests. I think of the brown mountains, tall palm trees, always present helicopters, R.P.D., guns, and black and whites. I think of my friends and my family, gangs, the homeless, their tattered rags, the wealthy, and their expensive suits. I think of how the weather changes, how it rains warm with the sun still shining, how its snows, big earthquakes, high winds, raging fires, and how it can be so boring and how it can be so exciting. I think of how diverse the Inland Empire is, but most of all I think of home.

Born in Tall Weeds

My blood is mixed, and my skin lies.
I lived in the Land of Confusion, under angry skies.

I am from tall weeds.
My place of Solace and Serenity.

I am from under my bed.
My place of Secrets and Safety.

The big Mulberry tree was my refuge,
and the old riverbed was my solidarity.
Out of sight, out of mind.

I "learned" with leather belts, loud shouts,
bumps, briuses, and black eyes.

Long silences and young lonely days.
Where the dinner table didn't make you a happy family.

This prison is made of cracked walls, chipped paint,
and sighed of desperation at night.
it had wide open doors, but the inmates had no fight.

I grew up too fast, because there was too much work, and friends came last.

My hands were rough, and my muscles were strong.
The labor was tough, and the days were long.

I finally escaped the spiderweb-asylum.

Fear, oppression, guilt and torment kept me strangled.
But courage has freed me, and I am no longer entangled.