whoi'm supposedtobe

Submitted by Fidel Trejo-Ortiz

Spun, delicate white sugar

Beeping of the electric oven

Sticky dough between my fingers

Ticks of clocks hammering scalps

This is who I’m supposed to be

Woven, stained baskets of golden oranges

Scars and blisters on cracked, tan hands

This is who I’m supposed to be

Deep, radiant eyes of goldstone

“WANTED” tattooed on burnt melanin

Bracelets of chains and shackles

Miles of thick, iron fences

This is who they suppose me to be

Twisted tongues full of error

Knives instead of pencils

Sons and daughters of refugees

The future as bright as a one wick candle

Is this who I’m supposed to be?

Moneymaker, illegal, criminal, threat

This is who you suppose me to be

A dealer of trouble and danger

An artifact of the American Dream

But is this who I want to be?

I can’t quite shake off the feeling of your gaze the unique texture of your palms it’s an enigmatic feeling one that continues to taunt me

Countmy Lucky Stars

Countmy Lucky Stars

I write of hurried whispers and secret truths dark interiors and barren lots but do I truly know truly understand what it means to be hurried to be told the truth the smell of the sunset and the sight of dried paint I cherish the prospect of a tomorrow though that’s not guaranteed I suppose nothing is, but it’s nice to wonder; nice to dream with that I dream of a future filled with time a future where I am me and you are you I don’t desire you to be mine to hold or cherish I instead dream of a future where you are proud of the person you have become of the person you were fated to be

I could finally turn around and take in all of the rubble from the mess I had made and in the midst of pre-post-apocalyptic celebration which is when the devastation isn’t quite over but there is some hope for the future I realize everything and everyone is not a threat and don’t trust no one shouldn’t be a skeptic’s favorite aphorism the battle against one’s psyche was over before it actually even started because the war thought to had been between me and myself, was actually us versus everyone so now there are all too many bodiless souls laid out across the battlefield, those who I fed to the darkness to keep my spot in its favoring are now nothing more than memories, that deserve a too thought out, way too late apology and the right to see what faith can do to a non-believer’s soulless body