Who learned you to spoke?

I stumble through the language provided by your fathers....
four score and seven years ago.
I search to reclaim the words spoken by my people.
The language of love.. Pain... and true passion.
I understand some.. Gracias Abuelitos.
But was never raised to speak in this tongue.

A White Mexican.... A WHITE MEXICAN.
I dress or act differently than what? A cholo?
Than a construction worker? A gardener?
Your everyday run of the mill undocumented citizen?
(Illegal immigrant, translated for your simple mind)

I am all those... I didn't choose to fair skinned. I love my culture.

I am Mexican. I am Latino. I am Mexican American. I am Aztlan.

I am an intellectual, talented, humorous and attractive Latino male trying to reclaim a culture lost to me.

I am not the Whitest Mexican you know.

And if I could tell you all of this in a language I long to know.
I would scream it in your fucking face.

I am learning. I will continue to do so... And I hope you will do the same.

One Missed Call

A missed phone call at one in the morning...
what kind of conversation would it have been?
The thought of your voice makes my bones ache.
I almost forget that I'm glad you had to go away.

This town is too small for the both of us now...

How have you been... How is your head?
You were losing it so fast.
I hope that that you laid your habits to bed.
It just wasn't my responsibility... Wasn't worth my time.

This room is too small for these feelings now...

Me? I'm looking for a new place to settle.
Looking forward to being alone for little.
I feel good things coming... The bad is almost gone.
Playing this guitar and listening to that one about the Blood Bank.
The song we used to love. making me ill.

The need for you has grown too small now...

Erased a missed phone call at six this morning
what kind of conversation would it have been?
The thought of your voice makes my heart ache.
I almost forget that I'm glad you had to go away