East Of The Freeway Poetry Slam

in memory of El Tapon

my mentor is the barrio
its guts

its dilapidated houses
its dirty playgrounds

punks and just plain kids
high on something

colorized
by the color on my skin

automatic scum
if you will

I do not draw sustenance
from the past

I dive into the flooded arroyo
I rush into burning houses

the outside scars
fade with time

the inside scars
fester

contrary to popular belief
they do not make you stronger

I prosper in the barrio
because I am made of it

said the slam poet
busted lip bloody nose and all