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I wished I was blind like you
not able to see the obvious
I wished I could give back the wings
and not able to fly above your head.
I wished I came back from history with no clues
of Grito de Lares.
I wish I could do what you do
hide the sky with my hands.
It is not easy to be naked
refusing to wear their clothing
but in the long run
more dangerous to be covered
when the storm comes for your child.
You are not the culture you think you are
Nothing but a drop of ink on a blank piece of paper.
Your memory was politicized
not to pay attention to Attica
replaced by foreign roots
giving your mind a mental breakdown
breast-fed labels to redefine your celebration
giving you textbooks concealing
the obvious stagnation.
I’m on a team playing en mi viejo San Juan
you sit there in the bleachers
having your chicken wings and pizza
singing the national anthem.
I’m looking up at the bleachers ready to collapse.
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