My blood, my dark brown hair, and my blended skin color

will never be one individual. I am a world of different flowers.

The weight of the world rests on my labor scars, and as my palms throb in reality, the abundance of Rivera's roses cries me pride.

Even as I relive the struggle of Salvador Allende when he said "a village must defend itself"

I prophesize and cultivate my lands.

I am the product of a hundred years of oppression and unstable governments.

We are all a people, an identity, and a force to be reckoned with.

Ever since Dario said " we are the millions cubs from the original Lion" I had known that one day we would mature, and reclaim our world.

When I sleep I travel through time and can even see Cuauhtémoc rebel and poetically cry “do you think I'm in a bed of roses?"

No other person understands why I feel desolate in the rain.

No other person understands why a simple pair of shoes holds meaning and deserves respect.

From Che - to the poetic justice and feminist upheaval of Storni and to the poetic and powerful beautiful verses of Castellanos and Burgos - I arise from the ashes of time.

Through my cultural identity in the simple tamale or the elegant Pupusa I scream my existence and let my soul quiver through the forests and run free.

The Spaniards took away from me a world I will never step foot in

and when the Yanks blindsided our governments and dominated our precious and fertile land of "Platanos and Yuca" I screamed! 

Our voices will never dissever, our plight will never end

until we have rebuilt our own Jerusalem

in Latin American's green and pleasant land.

By Kevin Andree Peña