The Struggle Is Real. So Is Our Resilience

Our Words Are Powerful

The Struggle Is Real...So Is Our Resilience

Youth Poets

Our Words Are Powerful: The Struggle Is Real…So Is Our Resilience This book is a publication of

To the youth facing their struggles with power and resilience.

Acknowledgments

Thank you to every youth poet who contributed their powerful words to this book. Shout out to the staff at various schools who allowed us to present our spoken word poetry workshops during the 2020-2021 school year. Special thank you to the Caring for Denver Foundation, Rose Community Foundation, and the City of Denver for providing the funding necessary to publish, celebrate, and distribute books of poetry written by underserved youth as part of our school-based programs (workshops and open mic events), all to encourage creative expression that reduces isolation, increases self-confidence, and increases the use of poetry and spoken word for coping and resilience.

Foreword

Welcome to “Our Words Are Powerful,” a yearly youth-written book of poetry from the Denver area. As you have experienced, 2020-2021 has been a difficult time for all of us. Therefore, it makes sense that the theme for this year’s book is “The Struggle Is Real. So Is Our Resilience.” In this book, we want to remind us all of the importance of describing the real struggles we experience and the real struggle needed to overcome them. The double-meaning shows us that only through individual and collective struggle do people change their reality. As you will read, the youth who contributed their powerful words to this book are leaders who use spoken word poetry to work through their challenges while embracing the resiliency, hope, and determination they carry from their ancestors. They inspire us to do the same.

For those who do not know about our organization: Words To Power shows youth the power of their words through highly engaging and culturally relevant spoken word poetry workshops for underserved youth in elementary, middle, and high schools in the Denver metro area and throughout Colorado. As an extension of our workshops, we partner with schools to host open mic events featuring student participants and our poets. We publish a yearly youth-written poetry book and host a community showcase with contributors, offering underserved youth an authentic opportunity for academic excellence, creative expression, and community engagement.

The Words To Power logo draws inspiration from many sources. The overall structure is modeled after a corn plant, as our workshop curriculum uses it as a metaphor. The raised fist reminds us of our power to create change, as social justice movements before us have struggled to achieve. The scrolls on either side pull from Indigenous books in Mexico, as symbols of speech (thus the accompanying image from a codex of people talking to each other). Taken together, our words and power come from our roots.

Immigration by Nallely (age 10)

Have you ever heard a child cry for their mother? One night, they took her back to Mexico too with other parents, whose children were crying and saying, “Bring back my parents too.” They grow up with their parents to love them, but cry every night before bed scream in pain shouting loudly saying , “It’s hard to live without them! It's hard to live without them!” Too young to notice they can’t get a job, live in the streets with others who need a job and others who need a mom and dad to live with too. My name is Nallely.

I am grateful to have a roof and a family who loves me and food to eat too.

Change by Nallely (age 10)

Roses are red, violets are blue you ’re killing the earth and that's not good for me or you. Si ves un árbol muerto, ayúdalo. Plant a new one. Haz algo to change the world to save it from badness. People say that the world will end. It won’t, the human race will, if you don't change the world.

Dreams of Unity by David Sandoval (age 10)

I am bold, someone who can follow dreams, someone who stands up for others. I come from the dreams of my parents. When I look in the mirror, I see people teasing and laughing at me just because of my looks. In my dreams, I imagine peace, people who don’t tease others because of their skin. With our voices, we can stand up for one another. In our hands, we are all equally important. Together we are a team. We are unity.

Help by Camille Hendrixson (age 11)

March 12, when COVID hit, I was only 9 years old. Thinking it would be a flu, but it never went away. Tiktok, tiktok, the time flew by, online school and watching the news, saying that George Floyd died. The racism and the disrespect that is coming towards Black people, Hispanics, Asians, and LBGTQ+ people. We don't deserve the hate some are getting. We are people We need to help not to destroy the history of the future, for the people around me. Isn't it hard enough with COVID?

Powerful by Emelie Herrera (age 11)

I am a powerful girl ready to succeed in life. I come from a wonderful family. When I look in the mirror, I see a beautiful creative person. In my dreams, I imagine I can spread happiness all around the world. With our voices, we can speak up and stop racism. In our hand, we can carry joy and kindness. Together we are powerful and amazing. We are fantastic together.

My Race by Clement Yanney (age 12)

I am Clement. I come from the next generation, the generation of hope, opportunity, and grace. When I look in the mirror, I see a boy of another skin tone or another race. In my dreams, I imagine a boy trying to make the world a better place. I am an ace trying to win the race. In my world, I see smart kids trying to stay on pace. People say that life's not a race, go at your own pace. I'm on a race. So I say no to go at my own pace. I don’t have time to go at my pace. I'm on a race to the future with other people trying to take my place. I don't like when people are trying to cheat in my race. So together, if we use our voices and hold our hands, we will grasp onto this race because we are the race.

Our World by Yvanna Essengue (age 14)

I am a person of word, full of enthusiasm and interest about the world. Still it is hard to find that in me. It is hard to spot me with a smile, when the world has turned into the opposite of its shine. I come from the unknown, where little is known. When I look in the mirror, I see another version of me. I see what people want me to be.

I see somebody who is willing to take the risk and do whatever it takes to protect her kingdom, someone who is capable of changing the world, my world.

I see a warrior, but that's not who I am. In my dreams

I see people suffering. I see people cheering and praising me.

I see people crying and pleading for a protector, a leader.

I see people counting on me, because I know deep down, that I am the chosen. I have to be.

I can't let them down, especially now when they need me the most. If I don't do it, nobody will.

With our voices, we can change the unchangeable.

With our voices, we can let them know that we’re not scared of them. Because that is what they need...fear. That is where they get their strength. As long as we keep quiet, they are going to keep on going. But we won't let that happen because we are more than what they are. In our hands, we have so much to do. We can continue to grow the preciousness the previous generation had left behind and preserve it for future generations. We will climb to the highest peak of the mountain, even if it means losing our lives to get what they stole from us and we will not return empty handed. Together, we are going to unite and form one strong nation. We are going to fight till the end while holding hands. Our grip will be so firm that no one will be able to take away what we have because we are in this together. We are standing together. We are powerful. We are strong. We are one. This is where we belong.

Allegiance by Rosalyn (age 14)

"I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America and for the republic for which it stands one nation under, divisible, with liberty and justice for almost all."

Why must I pledge to a flag that was built off the oppression of my ancestors?

Why should I pledge to a flag that doesn't even recognize that the real people of this land weren’t just ONE nation? We came from ALL nations.

Why should I pledge to a flag that claims "liberty and justice for all," when you don't even teach our history, but can teach our stereotypes?

America can claim to be the home of the brave and land of free but in reality it’s just a hard check that they have buried our history, stolen our women, killed our babies, emasculated our men and most of all, robbed us in all possible ways of our traditions and culture.

We are looked back on

as a fragment of the past. We no longer exist, to the rest of society at least.

But what they don't know is I have a whole family among my community. The rest of America loves to call us dirty, worthless, savages, redskins but my people are resilient and have fought for many generations to keep our ways of life protected and the American way of life protected. However, that's the only time when the government chooses to acknowledge us in a good way.

We have spent time fighting for America because we know that America was born on our land. Yet, they refuse to fight for us.

SO YES AMERICA, I REFUSE TO PLEDGE ALLEGIANCE TO YOU.

Dreams Full of Fear by Leslie Macias (age 15)

In my dreams, I hope to escape a reality that is so cruel. But the power I withhold at night will not make things easy for me. There are some parts in my life that I wish I had forgotten. But they are burning in my mind, scaring me in my sleep. Those thoughts come into my dreams, turning those to a nightmare. Wishing I'd escape from it all but the fear has consumed me. At night, I stay awake to not have those nightmares again. In my dreams, I wish to escape all this but it only follows me, and makes sleeping a fear walking in my shadows. It's only waiting to attack at nightfall to scare me once more.

Un Minuto Mas by Flumely Carmona (age 16)

Dame un minuto más, to remember you, to remember your scent of warm vanilla bean, to remember your soft caramel skin, to have one last bear hug.

Dame un minuto más, to thank you for trying, days and hours you spent trying to cross, just to be with me. You were just a woman who wanted her kids back. Now you are buried six feet deep in another soil, soil that your kids do not step on.

Dame un minuto más, to say sorry. I hope I'm not too late. I hope you can still hear me. Sorry, for putting you through this pain. I know this is not a fairy tale, where a wish upon a star will bring you back.

Cuanto daría para volver el tiempo atrás. Ay dios, I just wish you just gave me "Un Minuto Mas."

On

a Continuum

by Yumna Ali (age 16)

We are limited generations. The numbers will only ground themselves as time passes by.

However, I believe that is what makes every single generation, every single decade, every single year, every single week, every single day, every single hour, every single moment, every single human being, spectacular.

Because we are finite. We come in quantitative numbers, for only a selective amount of time, during a selective amount of time.

And whether you believe it or not, you are part of a generation that will never come back.

Although some may argue that there is indeed enough time in this world, time is outwardly perpetual, an endless stream of water forging its way through the labyrinth jungle.

Such that life is continuous, and love is continuous, Because of the simple fact that the world isn't complete in its existence without you.

So do what you want at this time,

and take those eerie risks in life.

Because we are irregularities that form a larger picture, and those infinite risks you take may just change the world for the better.

Because what was once the singular aspects of life we took for granted, will move on to shape another part of humanity, in someone else's universe.

The Herculean Quandary by Taylor Filler (age 16)

I took a flight recently and some things occurred to me, things that made me question, some things that were questionable. I've always liked the window seat. I love the scattered patterns of light, but this time was odd. This time was different. Glancing through the looking glass, I realized how many questions I had: Why were we placed in this domain? Are we all the same or are we all insane?

The machines, streets, and buildings that make up our lives, each little light made by you and I are merely dots from this vast empty sky. At first,

I felt like a God, looking down upon my kingdom, an omniscient leader of the spirits below me. That was,

till I remembered the thousand more of me. From the ground, I am the pinpoint and down there are millions of eyes (I's) staring up at the streak in the sky and thinking,

"I wish that were me!

Oh, to be *that* little dot!" But now, looking down

I feel smaller than normal.

I don't feel grand and I don't feel wise. Looking down, I see a world of lights, lights that blend,

that I can't tell apart. And instead of feeling like a giant from beyond, I feel like a liar and a fake, such a fraud.

I feel like King Midas, oh the gold I could have! The knowledge and money and wealth, oh how grand!

The hole in my being would be fixed by my honor! The glory, what luck the Gods have given me! But in the end, all stories were written for a reason. And Midas learned in “his” that he was the villain. “He” was to blame. “He” was the ignorance. *He* clouded his judgement and paid the price. And like King Midas, I finally see it clear.

I am just like anyone else but with triple the fear. Because like everyone, I want to be something. I want to leave a legacy, something worth keeping. But seeing how small my light truly is, I ponder the true worth of existence. How hard must I work to be remembered?

To be the “someone” you look at and say "I know her! She changed my life!"

To be someone who means something and to be that much brighter of a light?

My conclusion has come to the fact that we overthink. We worry and we tremble, we bleed in silence.

It's gotten to the point that we worry about everything and nothing is peaceful, nothing is nice.

Because we've made it that way. So we never stop “going,”

so nobody makes it, no one remembers the world that cried wolf becomes the world we remember. The people that scream are silenced and their light is extinguished. Or the lights become blended if they do remain lit. So I pose a question: who IS the villain?

The protagonist, the best friend, the NPC.

We all have a book, but which one is mine?

Will you remember my words?

Do you see my signs?

Are my screams so muffled that you can't hear what I say?

Or did I instead whisper?

But, then, who's to blame?

When I look out this window, this tiny little lens, I see lights and I see people who must stop pretending, who have to scream and MAKE their voices be heard. Because I see you but I can't see your words. In this storybook, this image shows us our world. But will you actually look, or will you just say it's absurd? Maybe I am the villain, or maybe I'm not

But we can't be anything if we keep saying nothing. You and I are the villains and the main characters. Our world contradicts and makes us bend backwards. For what?

For what reason should we?

Well, when our light fades,

I suppose we'll see.

My flight has brought me full circle from deity to insect. Do I allow myself to fade into peasantry or do I choose to shine like Apollo?

Do I labor at life like Heracles and reap the rewards? Or do I fade like the origins of these myths and be replaced by another Homer? That question is for all of us, what genre is your tale?

This chapter is your time to brand your name in the earth We decide the next move, so you tell me.

Message Received by Taylor Filler (age 16)

Message Received: 4:07 pm

Subject: In Search of a New Home Something's not right here.

Everything's amiss

Thoughts pass the wand'ring Earth I set upon. They promised love, a plentiful abyss.

How will I return to my point of spawn? My home's somewhere afar, where they call space.

It is a place where Gods and royals meet their fate. Diamonds replace rain and stars take trees' place with skies a color Lovecraft would create. Alone is where I truly feel at home but I'm comfortable beside the silence. Home is the place my soul was strung and sewn, a place full of awe and benevolence. I hope to take you where I hold so dear. The place I desire, holder of my fear.

My Favorite Color by Z (Azadian)

Brown is my favorite color.

Brown is extremely proud.

Brown is beautiful.

Brown is powerful.

Brown somos los mejores del mundo. I love the color brown

Brown people fight for their beliefs.

Brown people don't give up.

Brown people have pride. My people are brown, tough, and crazy. My people fight for what we love, and die for what we believe.

Brown Don't mess with Brown.

Brown is mi Raza.

Brown is Si Se Puede.

Brown will always be my favorite color.

Romero

(age 18)

Forgotten by Dio Rivera (age 18)

I am a Chicano

But other people don’t know. I’ve never heard Chicano in schools just on the news where we are considered fools.

Others see us as dangerous people in our community. They forgot the fact that we stand for Unity.

They see the “Violent” protests we lead, dangerous Chicanos is all they see.

We’re considered as high school dropouts, forced to the streets with no help.

We’re being forgotten in this society, forgotten that we’re mighty.

They don’t see the part where we are tear gassed, the part where we are considered the last. They don’t see us as victims of police brutality. They hear lies, not reality.

They don’t see leaders in our community, protesting every day for unity and opportunity. As animals is how they treat us.

We’re living in the back of the bus. We’re treated horrible every day. We fight but they get in our way.

We can’t even walk down the street without getting harassed by the police. Being Chicano is a privilege.

We don’t need to be treated different.

We don’t need beans and rice to be brown

Because Chicanos are powerful from up to down.

Struggle Healing by Malinda Medina (age 20)

Dear young woman,

I hope you find yourself. I hope you find love.

Society itself will break you into thousands of pieces. The form of dark poisonous lies creep into your mind and blinds you from picking up the broken pieces. Lost with no sight, left with a deceiving illusion.

Seasons pass by and you’re struggling to find rest. The only words you ever heard is to be strong and keep on fighting. Don't show your reality because it’s only a weakness. All the time of being strong and fighting only left you feeling more drained and tired.

Wishing to see again a glimpse of hope or a light.

Staying strong and fighting was just on going without no ending. Still can't see, lost completely, realizing you’re only fighting for survival and not finding yourself.

Instead of seeing because we are blind, we have to feel.

Feeling is to acknowledge, as if seeing was believing. Acknowledging that you don't feel okay is a big step, instead of keeping it inside. Acknowledging is a step toward healing. Being aware, it's a step toward problem solving.

Self-kindness and gratitude is a path to find yourself. Expressing is a form of letting go and becoming more free.

Healing isn't easy or a walk in the park. Sometimes it could be more painful than the place that you were in.

Once you learn to acknowledge and release you soon can see and learn to love.

Who Am I? by Ty Holly (age 20)

Who am I?

Am I just another person of color who you can point a gun at? Or am I someone who doesn’t deserve the same rights as a white person?

I’m already a teenager who is struggling as it is. I don’t need your bull**** telling me all the stereotypes that I already know. First of all, none of them are true! The actions of my ancestors have been reflected upon me, the supposed savagery of how they attacked the white man after being hunted for “fun.”

These known stereotypes have been passed down to me and the many sisters and brothers that surround the nation.

“Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never hurt me.”

I have heard this phrase hundreds of times from adults. But these adults don’t understand how these small words can break us mentally.

Who am I?

I’m just another girl fighting against society’s expectations, a book full of lies and rules neglecting who I need to be, which is changing me into someone else someone I was never meant to become. Because adults don’t think I need to be myself, only the image of who I “have” to be. But it’ll take more than a couple of rules

to change me. I will fight, I will overpower it, and overwrite its rules Because their rules don’t apply to me. The book I go by is the book that tells me I’m young and free, giving myself my own self-identity. But that book of my freedom is locked up and hidden away.

Who am I? A question I am asked by those around me But I am unable to answer because I don’t know the answer myself. Everyone is different. We are unique, separating us from one another. Yet, our minds are set in the past, holding us down against our will. fear being the enemy. Blocking the peripheral vision of creating good choices, we don't want to take risks. That's what makes us human. Everyone is a human, But our minds tell us a different story. Facts, Knowledge, logistics, society brought us down. Self-concept is our weapon, ripping through the pages of our nightmares, believing in ourselves, not letting our inner demons break us from the inside out. We are strong.

We are resilient. We are human.

Who am I?

The real question is Who do I choose to be?

Asking a child who they are is like a scar that will never disappear. Many others are just like me, searching through the depths of our minds looking for the answer to the question, afraid of giving the wrong answer. But it’s not our fault. It’s the one asking the question. I don’t want to struggle with a simple question. I want to answer it with a snap. I shouldn't need to overthink my answer, believing that it isn't the right way to go. With confidence, I want simply say

“I want to be a leader for my people, for my family, for myself.” My answer is my voice. Now I ask you a question, think carefully: Who do you want to be?

Donde by Nancy Palacios (age 21)

Hay mucha violencia corriendo en las calles, mucha pobreza y mucho coraje. La violencia existe por el mundo entero y siempre ha existido.

Yo soy de donde la gente se pregunta si son amigos o enemigos. Yo soy de donde ellos, bien enfurecidos, tumbando enemigos y matando los sueños de los niños.

Y de donde una bala le roba la inocencia a los niños. Yo soy de donde pasamos mucho tiempo ganandonos la vida, pero no el suficiente viviendola. Yo soy de donde amor y paz no existe, from where not only brown are killing brown but also the pollution we are around.

Yo soy de una comunidad where kids develop health issues, where options are limited.

I am from a community where resources are nowhere to be found, where people are scattered around, lying down on the ground.

Gazing at the night sky as the shooting stars pass by, not knowing that’s what took their life.

I see corner stores, liquor stores, packs of 6, 12, and 24.

I see the destruction

caused by shooting stars and paint jars.

Yo soy de murales que describen la humildad y felicidad de mi comunidad, que poco a poco son destruidos por aquellos que se quieren apropiar, sin pensar que detrás de aquellos murales hay una historia que es parte de mi infancia. Yo soy de donde we wear black and white stripes instead of red, blue and white, where streets are not painted in gold but in red, in the blood of our own kind.

Dear Brown Girl by Nancy Palacios (age 21)

Dear brown girl, your skin is morena, como Tonanztin. Your accent is the love language that connects you to Mother Earth. Your thick, long brown hair carries the prayers of your ancestors: strong, Mexica, Brown.

You are a guerrera, for you, your mom, and your abuela. First generation here in this nation, making your familia proud that was once in deep devastation. Your beautiful brown eyes capture the struggle and love in the barrio. Your hands cradle the unmeasurable love you have for your people.

Dear brown girl, don’t be afraid.

Your ancestors are walking behind you every step of the way.

An

Open Letter to You

by Larissa Sanchez-Payne (age 24)

Waking though you can hardly move, Working day just ahead.

Washing from the water pump in your trunk, Weary with life, There was once a time before this misery, when grass tickled naked heels. Sunbathed in hope you strove. Tomorrow was a dream. Now it is time to go, in a four wheeled home, to toil another day. Not paid to live, just to barely survive, yet still demanding more more more.

Swallowing down screams of injustice, this is now.

Fabric obscures detachment, a small buoy in a sea of chains. Still you defy, doing work that would make your ancestors cry, Why!?

How do you, my descendant, still labor for another's profit? With your back bent, hands cracked dry, etching canyons in flesh. Days spent inside these warehouse walls, barely making rent. Choking on unclear air, plague, pollution, violence so thick it grates against your teeth. The sunset of one virus, sunrise of another.

Still you are here, Still you fight to survive, survive in a world of death by design, negligence from those in power, revulsion from the rich, gums chewed raw on the silence of complacency. Drinking the metal in your mouth feeds the mettle in your gut. Rage against these chains. Your bloodline worn from exploitation. Never a soul past the sixth decade. This is your fight, though you are jaded by now, future smiling up to you. Not knowing all that will rest in their lap. Though impossible weight sags your shoulders, rage against the dying of this world, a blaze on your back, Rage against the exhaustion in your bones. Rage against a world designed by those who wish you in chains. Scream against injustice until your voice drips rubies, still with a fist high. Scream, “I am here I will not go anywhere!” In a world with no place for hope, fight until you can once again grasp the light.