I Am…

I am filled journal pages, 

Ink stains between bold lines

That tells the story of many lies 

I’ve overcome to free my mind from cages.

And empty pages, waiting to be written on. 

Wondering who, what and where will leave

A mark on me.

But mainly when. 

I am when the windows swing open at midnight blown by the overpowering wind.

When fires crackle amongst conversations.

When waves unwind the mind 

And when sweat drops against concrete,

Hot breath pressing against cool air. 

I am wondering when the next thing will define me as much as my native tongue 

Because I am now Spanglish. 

More of the Span than the Glish. 

I am Mandarin’s “Ai” and Spanish’s “Amor”, 

Tattooed across my leg

Awaiting the next Love. 

(Will you be my love?) 

(Will you be the next thing I am?) 

I am suns on wrists 

And anchors on hearts. 

I am, what you might say, too much for one language to hold. 

Si te quieres, tú puedes preguntarme 

“Que eres tú?”

Y, yo puedo digo mucho.

Pero si te quieres mi responde solo en Inglés o Español, 

I will not know how to define me. 

For I am forever lost in words;

Books, scripts, articles, plays, essays.

Journals.

I am the journal, 

Shelved, carried, written in or on,

Thrown in the trash or ignored. 

I am written down in notes, 

Recorded on film, 

Frozen in pictures, 

Captured, but also the capturer.