i do not speak hands
i do not speak feeling
i only speak with one language
this one
i am ignorant
i am sorry

poems from bootcamp

holding history in my hands
letting legacy slip through fingers
like sand through the sift
catching only big pieces
not minute details
we are legacy killers
let the blood of our forefathers
their sweat and tears
fly out our lazy lips
as we spit on the ground they laid before us