Speak

“The pen is the tongue of the mind.” -Miguel de Cervantes


Smooth and universal not
racist against cultural hands rough
at times lacking ink, depth and
powerful resignation of one’s
penmanship. An instrument to document
history, no matter the ample truths or
extravagant lies.


I can call you Vic, like my Guatemalan
mother calls him Dabid, Her
nationality you would not comment
on due to your unobtrusive, non-judging
intrinsic quality.

You are like my tongue, engaging
in poetic discourse with paper about
my mind’s habitual condemnation of self


worth, everlasting
scholarship, and the adoption of embracing
uncertain success

With you what lies within can exist
upon earth. Cohesive, raw and
misunderstood. My sweaty grip on
you does not falter, as talent breaking
your ballpoint barrier, and through your
channel of navy blue sustainability, finds epic
sound in requests of literary genius
igniting writer’s block. Personified language
lays upon the sheets of paper you
call home. I am home

and this is how I speak.