Two poems


Mentally disturbed

Mentally disturbed, Mujer Soy.

Words already set me up to fail.

Oh, how language and words forevermore, will never keep up.

Una mezcla de mundos, no? Una mezlca de tiempos,

de sangres,

de historias,

construiendo mi lengua de vivir.

Ahh.. And still, I am not nearly articulate enough; And my mind races…

Infiltrating the language

my soul already carries

With the whispers that my ancestors speak, As they swim within my young blood,

My young, naive, 19 year old

American – Mexican

Chicana – Activist

Educated – Latina

And still, young, naive, 19 year old blood…


Exploring -

The whispers trail upstream Where my mind soars,

As if this human shell

can dare to clip my wings?

And there, My disturbance begins The internal battle of what is true and what is advertised as truth, That there, that is my madness.

My wicked Madness, My womanly Madness, My beautiful Madness.

Nevertheless, it is MY madness.

And they say I am Too Mexican for the Americans, Too American for the Mexicans.

Too bohemian for the hommies,

Too gangster for the hippies.

Too free-spirited;

such as the Hummingbird Goddess of our Aztec Mothers.

Yet Too raw, Too real, Too roughened by life

Such as the piercing wisdom, the warrior spirit of our Native American Fathers.

Treating knowledge as if I am enmeshed Or madly obsessed,

Never missing the kernels of truth, Refusing to lead a misspent youth.

The appetite of curiosity inside, Hunger, that I refuse to let die.

With sight of the light waiting to ignite. And the hands of the mind,

Never tied.

Too politically aware for the youth,

Too grounded for the drugs,

Yet way too high on life & culture to conform, Or maybe too humanly frightened,

To let the fuck go.

Into this White Wonderland, Paradox of a Wonderland.

Such as a passing butterfly would be

As she migrates through the summer breeze, With the rays of the sun,

Shining through the fibers of her wing’s. Beaming through the whiskers of her antennas.

Just as she would be, when the summer warmth Hits

It’s first Winter Flake.

Gazing over the flawless, powdered blanket of a wonderland. And oh, what a wonder it is..

What a wonder it truly is..

Pero asi camino en mi tierra,

Cada paso lo lleno,

De las melodias de mi oscuridad. Del espiritu de mis lagrimas, Con colores de fe,

Con colores de ser humano.

Asi camino en mi tierra…

The unorthodox path that she migrates through Is Simply her bittersweet burden.

Again, this is my Madness.

My wicked Madness.

But Blessed Madness,

And oh so beautiful of a Madness.

hmmm…mentally disturbed; Is simply to be Educated. As A minority of The minority.
Womanly Disturbed; Is simply to be Revolutionary Again, as A minority of The Minority.

To struggle with your political depression, academic racism,

cultural dichotomy.

and STILL – find presence in the present.

For this wonderland of a land, is seasonal. And carved with each colorful footprint, With each lining of your toe,

As it marks your skin’s signature –

Leading & Leaving.

Like the artist that you are. Painting & Printing.

I continue to draw on this wonderland, of a Wonderful Land.

And in my hand, My Brush. My Paper, My World.

And for my paint, My Love.

Disturbed with a beautifully tortured, humanistic soul; I will continue to paint,

I will continue to migrate,

I will continue to fuel the ember in me.

Mentally Disturbed, Mujer Soy.

And that is the butterfly soaring in me.


Whatever happened to Humanity?

Whatever happened to Humanity?
When Man’s gentle touch, 
Would spark the crawling-tingling sensation of a kiss.
As it would be, 
Should be, 
The permission already given
By my lip’s caressing embrace.

And Man, 
Could be entrusted
with one simple stare.

For you knew the language in which my kisses would breathe, 
And even if you did not know, 
such womanly ways, 
or womanly language, 

spoke the same.

Ahh, but it was your dominance, 
that wouldn’t listen.

Whatever happened to humanity?
When it was in fact, 
The melody of my voice, 
That sang words you respected.

And No meant No, 
But Yes,
meant ahh yes, yes, yes.

Because it was the word, 
that you respected, 
that would transmit a heart’s desire.

And my mouth, 
Became more than a physical vessel
Of instant pleasure…
Taming the selfish needs of your primitive human nature.

& Wild

You feast to surpass satisfaction. 
My mouth instead, 
Spoke the art of my soul’s language.
And voice, 
    was heard.

Because it was my existence, 
you listened for.

Since the waves of my curving body, 
created a siloutte of ever-lasting mystery.

In which you awed for, 
Hunted for, 
Praised for, 
Humbled for, 
Explored for, 
Patiently waited for my blessing.

Whatever happened to humanity?
When as a human race, 
We shared the same land, 
the same air, 
the same hand, 
the same world.

You & I, 
shared the same bed.

When as a human race, 
To lay with one, 
was only to confirm a common truth.

Oh you see, 
For when she opens herself
It is as if Spring
Turns to blossom its first flower, 
And with your rain, 
To bring the first shower.

For really, 
Just as any force in the Universe 
       -This shared world did not birth
From only its waters.

But rather, 
The love that was made
When the raindrop reached the land’s seed, 
And quenched such a parched thirst.

And Equilibrium is reached.

but again, 
It was your dominance that did not listen.

The Human, 
By one’s own self-perpetuating lies.

The Human, 
Therefore governed, 
By one’s very own despise.

The Human thus cultivated, 
By one’s very own silent cries.

What happened to Humanity?
When in being humanistically human, 
Our tolerance becomes perfectly imperfect, 
When living by our vile virtue, 
We become legally illegal.

Whatever happened to humanity?
When Man’s gentle touch,
would spark the crawling-tingling sensation of a kiss…

As it would be, 
Should be.



About the author

Lluvia Carrasco

Young Latina born in San Jose, California. Raised by the diverse San Jose, slow-paced Los Banos and politically-driven Los Angeles. Unconditionally cared by two politically successful parents, treated with the "Only Child Syndrome" and later the "Oldest Child Syndrome". An immigrant grandmother as a primary care-taker throughout Elementary school, as the product of the Public School System of West Side San jose. Exposed by a Notre Dame College-Prep High School education and now arrived to the career-oriented mind of a Saint Mary's College of California student. Conscious, driven, and disciplined student leader that is completing a Teacher's program to become politically involved in the Education field. I am simply a 19-year old young woman, going through her metamorphous. In other words, College. View all posts by Lluvia Carrasco →

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2 thoughts on Two poems

  1. Lluvia, Loved reading about your “madness”- hermana, you speak beautifully about a shared experience for many of us. Keep that mariposa alive.
    Lovely poems.
    Christina Perez

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