El Mojado(Tribute to Arjona & the people)


United States
39° 47' 32.676" N, 86° 15' 5.0868" W

“Empacó un par de camisas, un sombrero
Su vocación de aventurero, seis consejos, siete fotos
Mil recuerdos”

Growing up Mami used to always be there for me
but that stopped around the same time Papa disappeared.
"Mija,no te preocupes que Dios Proveera"
Yet, even at our best there were tears in her eyes
Mixed with the sweat on her brow.
On those rare instances in which it was her I saw
I tried so hard to help out
but it felt like my hands were tied.
Five years spent like that
Proving myself to feel as worthy as everyone else
And failing to do so despite my desperate efforts.
Striving to be the top of the class but getting knocked down simply because I was –different-.
(Si la luna…)
And it seems different is always better (right?)But I guess Indiana lost the memo
Cuz now it’s worse than ever
The white kids didn’t like me cuz I was “different”
The black kids didn’t like me cuz I was “stuck up”
And my own people hurt the worst,
Because I just wanted to excel and become something in life
While everyone else and they momma preferred the comfort of strife
No I had never been called out by them but their stares cut me deeper than any word ever could.
NO I never lived in the projects and no I never had to duck behind a shattered window
never had to hustle or be on the streets but I felt as though they held these things against me
And that made me inferior
All I am is what my parents, God, and words made me.
Because If there’s one thing I learned these past 18 yrs
Is that nobody can take this God given words from me
The same ones that have given a voice
A voice that has blossomed into the sweetest infection of body and mind
Sweetest infection of any kind, I tell you
allowing for this poetree to flourish
(Si la luna…)
Thrive and bloom
Practicing the Art of laconism, indulging in the sweetest of solitudes letting these spaces be filled by the silence that always follows the stillness before a storm.
A storm brought by the voice I have given to the struggle of mi gente,
the struggle of Immigrants, poverty, politics, war que tenemos de frente
Grinding parents, single mothers, dead soldiers, and hustling children.
Children because that’s what they are,
Despite the fact that society has deprived them of their childhood.
Kids I grew up with are no longer kids they’ve become parents
Maturing before they should just to run errands
Grinding to pay bills
Babysitting children of neighbors
Because love and family are what we cherish.
And at first it was hard, being the foreigner
The outsider
The invader
But I guess sooner or later
It’s got to get better
So I hang on,
to the handful of people that have placed their faith in me
The few one’s that’ve made me real
That’ve introduced me to this amazing power called
A power that has pushed me past the hardships
and into the world of empathy
Giving me eloquence to allow for the sharing of this beautiful elixir that pours out
like a waterfall once I open
my mouth
That same wonderful power
That’ll earn my fam and I
a better life
"Si la luna suave se desliza por cualquier cornisa
Sin permiso alguno, por qué el mojado precisa
Comprobar con visas que no es de neptuno.

Si la visa universal se extiende el día en que nacemos
Y caduca en la muerte, por qué te persiguen mojado
Si el cónsul de los cielos ya te dio permiso."


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741