Tired
Poem by Andrea Cancino
Art by Samuel Rodriguez

The world spins/as we lay down our sins/without a stop/but with five gun shots/and im tired/tired of the violence that we have created/because at the end we're the most affected/im tired of the dripping blood that stains us more and more/im tired of this f@ckin dreams and of my own soul that from rage screams/we've taken violence to its full xtrim/and im tired/tired of so much death/of the sound of gun shots and of final breaths/tired of them drugs that destroy your mind/and that kills us when the truth we strike/because peaceful love we cant seem to find/im tired/tired of the traps that from our hearts and heads life jacks/and from looking at the world with dead cold eyes/with so much pain that behind numbness/we hide/im tired of all the sh!t we choose to go through/just to get that one hit/and of all the rage and anger/that fill our hearts/that fill our souls and our every parts/im tired  of cracking jaws/and braking bones from head to toes/im tired of the dark a$$ hole we've fallen in/and of being the witnesses of our own cruel sins/tired of taking it day by day/without finding a different way/tired that we are falling so far down/but we never hit the ground/of the unimaginable balance/of life and violence/and of the unexplainable pain we feel/knowing our wounds of death will never heal/tired of what we see out on the streets/and of them kicks of ecstasies and weed/of pretending our lives are perfect/but jet with fear of been rejected/im tired that you cant see the weak a$$ side of me/and of the light we yearn for but can never reach/because it contains happiness/and we'd get rich/im tired of the violence that we live around/its tricky eyes pulls us to abandoned pounds/with all its violent sounds/im tired of them fights we now start/hoping to the world we look smart/in our swollen body parts/fighting/pretending to do it with heart/tired of them blows in my body/that always end up bloody/tired of living life at the edge of a knife/of the unusable crap they teach at school/treating us like stupid fools/but they‚ll never know what goes on behind old stools/tired of walking through long lonely halls/trapped from a peaceful world by tall thick walls/im tired of them drugs we sell/causing an inescapable hell/tired of crying mothers/with dead gangster kids/without a father/of eating one grape a day and you cant go further/and as we grow older we go in deeper/and life gets harder/
Because the world spins/as we lay down our sins/without a stop/but with five gun shots/and im tired/tired of the violence that we have created/because at the end, we're the most affected.
 
In memory of Vicente (Chente) Mendoza

Here's another story to read:

My Soul, My Choice A Woman's
Story by Karina Diaz
Image by Erin Traylor

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