Poem: Home

I’ve decided to write the perfect poem
But perfection isn’t wrapped up in a tone

Therefore, I may be alone
In my interpretation of what is the perfect poem

But that’s OK
Because I am imperfect

I see more than my family could believe
My parent’s grief in dealing with each other goes away
When they speak of their love for me

Every time my grandpa plays the guitar
I feel like music, love, and pride are tangible things,
Like I can touch them

My grandma’s poetic lines never rhyme and
Surely won’t be found in any quote books.
She acts out her advice through example, and I watch



I watch while all my aunts’ tears
Dry up through cheers and happiness
And continue for years at the hand of everyday life

Right now, my Uncles’ minds are spinning fast
Fueled by love for their families
Hopefully they’ll never slow down

Every night before I go to bed I pray
But not on one knee
I prey on the motivation that my family has given to me

I’ll be the Cesar Chavez of equality
And the Johnny-Apple-Seed of political clarity
I’ll collaborate for more sincerity
And maliciously fight for the ceasing of every stereotype

It can be done,
Through laughter and a good cry,
By never letting my goals subside,
By letting their histories affect mine,
And by finally releasing a few poetic lines about
Why I am here right now

Pride

I decided to write the perfect poem
But perfection wasn’t wrapped up in my tone
Therefore, I still may be alone
In my interpretation of what is the perfect poem

But at least I know one thing for certain,
Perfection starts at home