Oaxaca is Burning 

I awaken to countless voices screaming,

From Damascus to Oaxaca, I can hear each one pleading,

For change, protection, freedom,

And here in the land of the free, what are we offering them?



I am a plethora of contradictions,
wild, free  yet well-kept,
flawless prose in simple diction,
wide awake and hardly slept.

True warriors never share their stories,
but bury me in my armor,
forever doused in gold and glory,
the misanthropic little charmer.