Eyes submerged in folding skin
Skin tight around a feral skeletal figure collapsing in
Skin tight like a trash bag
In an out of jail makes first cousin to a sleazebag
Saw him outside the laundry
He didn't see me.
He still carries limbs like they are to heavy for him
To paraphrase lenin
Heroine is the heroine
Of the masses
Massive effort made after rosy died
But still in a trailer park playground
Communally assisted suicide
When they called me wetback I felt Latino for the first time in years. It amazing how one racial slur helped clear. My scattered desk of labels.
When I got back in town I cut my hair short. Short like every other kid with the last name Romero. Short so that pure spanish blood wouldn't be mistake for native. Short like my great aunts temper when a tourist complimented her hair, saying it looked Indian. Through her lips paralyzed by a stroke she hissed and spat her mucus with all the hate one can spit mucus. Which is a surprising amount of hate.
Ian’t specifically stereotypical
My feeling of isolation literal
I’ll only every be a cultural cut out
Cut out from buttered tortillas and a low wage
Feel like a shop lifted my heritage
Artemisio C.R.: "I am a 16-year-old, Chicano, writer, and visual artist. I have have been part of 3 group shows over the last 2 years in the Sambusco Center, The Santa Fe College of Art and Design, and most recently, at the Santa Fe Community College Gallery. I spent 3 years in the Georgia Okeefe Boy's program, and last summer attended Interlochen Arts Camp on scholarship. My art is primarily concerned with the modern collapse of culture and identity. While I am trained in observational realism and classical figure drawing, my recent visual artwork is a departure into more gestural ink compositions. This recent work explores the processes of trauma and memory with the irregularity and precision of the chosen mediums. My writing reflects those same goals, namely to expose conflict through spontaneity and catharsis."