Chameleon Corpse
[vc_row][vc_column][title type="subtitle-h6"]Francisco Velazquez[/title][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column width="11/12"][vc_column_text][audioplayer file="http://www.uwilluminationjournal.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/Francisco-Velazquez.wav" titles="Chameleon Corpse" artists="Francisco Velazquez" track="Chameleon Corpse"][spacer height="5"]
Sometimes I wonder if education lost its voice
in between textbooks,
if playing hangman with our history
could spell pride on our tongue.
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I listen to a lecture on the history of America,
how this country was built from the ground up,
That silence fills our classrooms
because the taste of roots
is too foreign.
I remember my teacher asked me
the highest level of education my parents reached?
I told him elementary school.
A man that seemed to have traveled the world
with his eyes sewn to his lips
looked at me puzzled.
Wondering if the moon had escaped
the galaxy of my eyes,
Wondering if I had jumped a border
of 50 American bullets,
To him, I was a potential dropout.
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He made me question
if my skeleton would break
after he returned to his desk,
I did not bother to ask
if he believed I’d be a statistic,
He had already placed me in the back
of the classroom.
I felt the urban in my body
turn to limp leaves,
How the stem of my backbone
was made for lifting and pushing,
The oxygen in my body
was worth more with the Earth,
than living in it.
In that moment
I wanted the chameleon corpse
of my lungs
to keep breathing,
To hold my heritage closer
to my scoliosis spine.
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I belonged to a melting pot
of English and Spanish
and didn’t know which was easier to swallow,
So I rolled my r’s like dice
and studied my tests like homicide,
Because I refuse to be made an 11 o clock news story.
My fingers created the freedom
that my mouth could not,
I held my pencil tighter than any textbook,
my pencil saw no rhythm in skin color.
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I feel my skin is segregation
from 7AM til 2PM.
I want to crawl from my flesh
and hide in the power of my ancestors.
The pyramids of my country
have only been featured in one chapter,
The amount of dropouts
from my country
have been made the headlining topic each week.
“AsianAmerican
and white students are still far more likely to graduate than Latino and AfricanAmerican
students.”
I don’t believe in change
when our future is based on the neighborhoods
we grew up in .
How can a Latino or AfricanAmerican
be expected to graduate
when we have to watch our shoulder
to make sure we aren’t the next rest in peace (R.I.P.) protest,
How do you expect any progression
when you have to work below minimum wage
because the only green you carry
isn’t valid in this country,
Is there enough time
to study a textbook
when your education won’t get you anywhere
without money.
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Education is a crisis.
Breathing is a crisis.
School is a demand.
School is a necessity.
Society is peer pressure lips.
Teaching is lost.
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My classroom will witness more failures
than graduates as education keeps losing its voice,
Parents will witness more funerals
than orientations for college.
Students will live in the slums of their throats,
Where teachers have placed pigment to the back
and potential in the front.
I hold my legacy
in the left side of my wallet,
I will remember my teacher’s words,
I will graduate
with my heritage
as a witness
that my roots
kept me alive.
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