College Track Speaks! Vol. 4 by Cafe Cultura

College Track Speaks! Vol. 4 CafĂŠ Cultura Community Speaks Project #32 Telling Our Stories Spoken Word Class

College Track Speaks! Vol. 4 Copyright ÂŠ 2016 by Telling Our Stories Spoken Word Class All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.

To the incredibly intelligent and powerful students in our Spoken Word class...Continue being the strong young women who will lead our communities! #CafeCultura #XpressYourself #TellingOurStories

Acknowledgments Thank you to the supportive staff at College Track for allowing us to work with your students as they speak their truths. Special thank you to each participant for stepping outside of your comfort zone to write and perform powerful spoken word. Remember: â&#x20AC;&#x153;It is our responsibility and choice to express ourselves and lift our voice, together building unity, leaders in our community. This is how we tell our stooorrrryyyy!â&#x20AC;?

Foreword It was a pleasure for Café Cultura to renew our partnership with College Track. For the fourth time, we used our Telling Our Stories curriculum to offer a spoken word class as part of their student activities. The poems participants wrote captured insightful conversations about their experiences with the world around them. Many performed during Café Cultura’s June Art in the Park. Those in attendance witnessed the amazing young people we saw in our class every Friday. We know that these students will finish high school with a sense of purpose as they continue their educational journey to be the leaders we need. Enjoy their work in this collection! For those who do not know about our organization: Café Cultura is an award-winning arts, culture, and youth develop-ment organization in Denver that promotes unity and healing among Indigenous peoples through creative expression while empowering youth to find their voice, reclaim oral and written traditions, and become leaders in their communities. Café Cultura has been providing positive, creative, and engaging community spaces for the Denver metropolitan area for more than ten years. After the passing of respected elder and veteran poet Abelardo “Lalo” Delgado, we accepted responsibility to continue using our oral and written traditions to provide opportunities for creative expression often not offered in schools or in the larger community. Café Cultura also drew inspiration from the movement connecting Indigenous people from throughout the Americas. We use creative expression to unify people representing southern Indigenous nations, known by terms such as “Chicana/o” and “Latina/o,” with those Natives of northern nations, referred to as “American Indian” or “Native American.”

CafĂŠ Cultura hosts one of the best open mic venues in the Denver metropolitan area, and the only space focused on family and youth. We also conduct highly engaging and culturally relevant spoken word/poetry workshops for underserved youth throughout Colorado. CafĂŠ Cultura partners with select organizations and schools to facilitate an intensive workshop series, publish youth poetry, and organize participant showcases. In an effort to develop young leaders within our community, we also coordinate a youth leadership program for Indigenous youth. If you or your organization is interested in collaborating, feel free to contact us. For more information about our open mic events, workshops, youth leadership program, and other programs: info@cafecultura.org 720-394-6589 www.cafecultura.org

Table of Contents Ignored Ignorance by Adwoa...............................................................1 Una Guerrera by Jasmine ......................................................................4 They Do Not Know Me by Breanna ..................................................6 Someone Like Her by Imani ................................................................8 The Spirit of My Ancestors by Yalitza ............................................. 10 Identity by Mihret ............................................................................... 12 I See Her by Adwoa ............................................................................ 16 A Walk in the Park by Jasmine.......................................................... 18 A Proud Black Girl by Breanna ........................................................ 20 Queen by Imani ................................................................................... 22 Dreams by Yalitza ............................................................................... 24 Here by Adwoa.................................................................................... 26 Broken Mirror by Jasmine ................................................................. 28 The Battle by Breanna ........................................................................ 30 Will I Ever Rest by Imani .................................................................. 32

Ignored Ignorance by Adwoa I read my life, every day. Being African is having a veil that hides truth from the deeply wounded eyes of the western world. To be African is wrong, I am a mistake. It means I am disabled by things I am too “uncivilized” to know. My home is forever poor. My brain knows no future. It is strangled by a past of shackles, and a present of “uncultured” African faces, carelessly placed upon hunger-stricken bones and masking uneducated brains. I cannot be happy. A smile can never grace my black face. I cannot be fed from the rich brown earth. I must cry, because I am not westernized. I do not eat cereal in the morning. I do not have material wealth. I have nothing. As I read, anger fills my heart. The pages flip faster because I want to see

College Track Speaks! Vol. 4

if the truth will show that I am not, that we are not, that my home is not… So, I write the truth. I scribble my life over the words. I am smart. I have cultural wealth that towers beyond what your ignorant eyes will ever see. The blood of the unfailing strength of my shackled ancestors run through my veins and… and… and… I AM AFRICAN. I try to write, yet the words erase. The ink in my pen is too weak. It cannot scratch over engraved ignorance. Fear burns my fingers. My passion, every day I lose lose… Lose? Who says I have lost? The liars? Those who wrote my Africa, my home into a cage of lies? NO. I AM AFRICAN

Telling Our Stories Spoken Word Class

and I do not lose. I drop the pen. I close the book. I walk away, to live my life, because I do not need to prove anyone wrong. My existence already has.

College Track Speaks! Vol. 4

Una Guerrera by Jasmine Soy una guerrera. Soy una guerrera because I come from one of the most broken of homes and yet I am still striving. Soy una guerrera porque vengo de la calle sin terminar que representa el pesar y la interrupciĂłn de los sueĂąos and I am still thriving. I am a refresco, a small shortbread cookie that represents the few happy childhood moments that I was able to experience. Simple memories are slowly escaping my mind. Those happy moments represent the person I have become today, someone humble who wants to remain positive for the outside world because she knows what hurt is, and does not wish pain on even the worst of people. I am like my beautiful grandmother before me who has taught me to focus on the good of people and forgive the bad. She is a woman with qualities so rare that I have chosen her as my role model. Soy una guerrera because from my mother

Telling Our Stories Spoken Word Class

I have learned how to turn sadness and despair into a motivation for success rather than a negative delinquency. Hard work will pay off in the end because I have had the rare experience of being offered so many unique opportunities and for that, I am forever grateful to her and God for showing me guidance, even through the toughest of times. Soy una guerrera porque soy la persona who my parents can be proud of.

College Track Speaks! Vol. 4

They Do Not Know Me by Breanna It all started with one step down a road I was not ready for. They were chasing after me seeking revenge but I had not done anything to them. My heart was racing, lost in my thoughts. They put handcuffs on me that identified me… but that was not who I was. They caught me and trapped me in their stereotypes: “Oh, she must be loud and ghetto.” “She must be angry and have a bad attitude.” “She must have daddy issues.” “She must be unintelligent.” She is a black woman stuck in a cell where cold metal bars told lies of who they thought I was. But they do not know me, not the real me. You see, I am a warrior and I burn the lies that try to show my identity. As these metal bars disappear, my confidence stands strong because I am me and I am proud of who I am.

Telling Our Stories Spoken Word Class

It is a shame. I am amazing, but you will never know that if you do not give this educated, beautiful, black, strong girl a chance. Never judge a book by its cover, my looks will never define my soul.

College Track Speaks! Vol. 4

Someone Like Her by Imani She is subtle, a Queen in distress but always remains humble. Words cannot explain her but there is not anyone who could ever replace her. She is in tune with my heart beat and she knows when my mind is broken. She knows when my lips have been shaken to a tremble and she holds me dearly when I can no longer hold that rumble. She is perfection within imperfection. You fear the slightest thought of her not being around and a ghostly tremor awakens your veins. She is unexplainable, your own personal angel, She is irreplaceable, magical. She is inspiration when you have no motivation. She delivers a disciplined hand when needed and a soft guidance when appreciated. She warms your soul like hot chocolate on a cold winter night. She is your other half, kind of like a melody to your lyrics or the beat to your heart. Even now, this does not describe the best of her abilities.

Telling Our Stories Spoken Word Class

Someone like her is once in a lifetime. She molds you into this person to be great for an infinity. And in your eyes, I have described an angel, but I call her my mom.

College Track Speaks! Vol. 4

The Spirit of My Ancestors by Yalitza I am 19 degrees North, and 99 degrees West. My family originates from a land of historical oppression that still influences us today, a land with beautiful blue beaches, hot arid deserts, and gigantic mountains. It is no wonder that being of Mexican origin suits me best. A place of my family's history and culture will live on to this day. He came to the United States in hopes of a better life. With no knowledge of the language or where to go. He just came to work, like what most immigrants do once they arrive. He worked day and night, just to put food on the table, just like my ancestors, who lived every day in order to survive. He never thought that someday he would own his own business or live in a beautiful home and meet the love of his life. My father is the love, diligence, and success that my brothers and I will always look up to. Yo tengo una cadena de oro. Es una collar

Telling Our Stories Spoken Word Class

que representa el dia de mi bautismo. My ancestors forced religion upon my other ancestors, when the Spanish came to Mexico and conquered the Aztecs. Regardless of where I stand upon religion, it is something I treasure. The cold chain against my warm neck, gives me a reason, a feeling of empowerment and that there something to believe in. In Mexican culture, food unites family. I used to hate chile, salsa, tapatio, anything spicy. But now I eat chile with my food because it satisfies me. It is powerful and only the strong can endure it. It is a war in mouth. As soon as it is consumed, I feel victorious and potent to take on anything. The pyramids in Teotihuacan are still standing. throughout all the natural disasters that came in their way. Their strength and beauty is withstanding. Its cracks and damage are like scars, that reminds the viewers that the spirit of the Aztecs lives on.

College Track Speaks! Vol. 4

Identity by Mihret They said you are American, you are an Ethiopian-American, and then they said you are an African-American. They gave me too many labels and tried to put me in a box, forgetting I was born free, free, just like natural occurring dreadlocks. It is the 21st century and I am still forced to question and search for my identity. They keep asking me what group I belong to, telling me that I need some sort of stability, stability rooted in white supremacy and white privilege pedigree. They tried to place me into an old age mentality of slavery. They forgot, my ancestors were free people, kings and queens, free people who stepped on the chains and guns of colonization. I am Ethiopian, a Habesha woman who originated from the only nation in Africa to remain untouched by European power. I am a daughter of the Solomonic Dynasty.

Telling Our Stories Spoken Word Class

I am Ethiopia, the cradle of humankind and home of the Axumite civilization, the birthplace of Coffee, the Yirgacheffe Buna of the Sidamos or the organic Guji Coffee of the Oromos located in the Southern Guji Zone of Shakiso. They are different geographically, culturally, and in terms of flavors but these southern jewels maintain the same general characteristics, just like the 80 tribes of their motherland. I am Ethiopian, spicy as Berbere, flaming hot like Mitmita, yet as delicious as the Enqutatash Doro Wot and sweet as Tej, an authentic alcoholic homemade honey wine powered by leaves and twigs of Gesho. I am like Birz, so much sweeter, less Alcoholic and the younger brother of Tej. I am the home of Kitfo, one of the most beloved Ethiopian cuisines. an amazing food of the Gurages served with Ayibe and Gomen sided with Enjera or Kocho, a thick flatbread made from the Enset plant. I am Ethiopia, surrounded by loving grandmothers and devoted grandfathers who seek to see the happiness of my people. But home does not have everything.

College Track Speaks! Vol. 4

Home is not perfect. That is the reason my children flee to foreign lands. On the way, most of them are eaten by the oceans. Some are enslaved, tortured, and killed while thinking tomorrow will be bright . Before I break down, I pray and cry for their safe return. But the injustice people in power create tell them to never turn around and see me. Some of them come back though. They show the world my beauty that the media does not show. I am Ethiopian, the furthest thing from perfect but imperfect is beautiful. My children abroad know that. Mother Ethiopia cries “I am you, You are me. Tell them it is more than famine and war. Tell them about the beauty of my highlands.” Here I am. hardly home, but always reppin’. I will open my eyes and heart, never to touch her, but I will always extend my arms to her. I will rise.

Telling Our Stories Spoken Word Class

I will rise above it all and live by the codes of freedom in my blood. Ethiopia is me and I am Ethiopia.

College Track Speaks! Vol. 4

I See Her by Adwoa I stare at her. I stare at myself sitting across the table, nervous, scared, angry, incomplete. She is only a dark void, a dark void that would light up would she just look up with those bright brown windows to her wounded soul. Yet they remain closed. So, I try to console her, tell her she is ok, she is fine. I want her to see the beauty within herself, the only thing that would carry her through, carry me through. She cannot see that I am dependent on her. My strength comes from her hope and I am weak, but she cannot see. We sit in silence. As my strength dwindles, she starts to chip away. â&#x20AC;&#x153;It is worse,â&#x20AC;? I say.

Telling Our Stories Spoken Word Class

â&#x20AC;&#x153;It is much worse and I need your hope. You cannot fade away. If you go, I go. And I need to stay. I have to survive because I was told it gets better, brighter, happier. I need you so I can survive. Please.â&#x20AC;? Silence. She lifts her head and opens her bright brown eyes. I see her for the first time and I see her hope. It fills my body with absolute strength. She smiles and my heart fills with warm hope. She laughs and my eyes fill with euphoric peace. Now, I can wake up.

College Track Speaks! Vol. 4

A Walk in the Park by Jasmine The road to happiness is supposed to be a walk in the park. When I started on that path, it seemed true. It began as a gentle stroll in the park with warm sun rays shining down on me. That is what it is supposed to be, the way children are told they should live life. But as you grow older, that warm sunny day that you so much looked forward to is now ruined. Grey clouds and fog spilled over the sky pushing our stroll into a jog and making us eager to get back to our safe place. That is not what it is supposed to be. We grow and mature a little more. We then see the greyness being consumed by darkness. Our jog rapidly becomes a sprint and there is no going back. It is not how it is supposed to be. Now all we see around us

Telling Our Stories Spoken Word Class

is fear and dull disappointment. This, instead of colorful memories we once knew. That is how it is supposed to be. Instead, we constantly follow the same path hoping that as you turn the next corner, you can once again allow yourself to feel the warm sunrays seep into your skin. This is how it is going to be. We find that gentle stroll getting us back to the slow pace we started with to get us back to the road leading to happiness.

College Track Speaks! Vol. 4

A Proud Black Girl by Breanna I am a proud black girl coming from the roots of my black brothers and sisters who were whipped and raped just for thinking of the word freedom. “Freedom at last, thank God almighty for freedom at last.” The words of MLK still march in our hearts until this day. I am a proud black girl who was given the tough love from a mother who raised 3 kids on her own. She showed me that being a black woman is as powerful as a lion’s roar. She taught me when my struggles knocked me down, I shall walk by faith not by sight. I am beautiful and blessed with glory of God. I am a proud black girl who will always remember the Mile High City, where the skyscrapers of downtown Denver wraps me in my childhood. The mountains give me peace,

Telling Our Stories Spoken Word Class

just like a soft little teddy bear covered in love from the heavens. It reminds me of the father I always wanted but I am still daddyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s baby girl. I am a proud black girl with a mama from North Carolina who makes the best apple pie in town. The sweet and delicious taste lingers in my mouth. It reminds me of the unity of my family that holds my happiness making me smile with every warm sugary bite of my motherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s love for me. I am a proud black girl who is created on a rough past. I keep my head held high through the obstacles of life because I am a proud black girl.

College Track Speaks! Vol. 4

Queen by Imani I am a proud black girl coming from the roots of my black brothers and sisters who were whipped and raped just for thinking of the word freedom. “Freedom at last, thank God almighty for freedom at last.” The words of MLK still march in our hearts until this day. I am a proud black girl who was given the tough love from a mother who raised 3 kids on her own. She showed me that being a black woman is as powerful as a lion’s roar. She taught me when my struggles knocked me down, I shall walk by faith not by sight. I am beautiful and blessed with glory of God. I am a proud black girl who will always remember the Mile High City, where the skyscrapers of downtown Denver wraps me in my childhood. The mountains give me peace,

Telling Our Stories Spoken Word Class

College Track Speaks! Vol. 4

Dreams by Yalitza I am a proud black girl coming from the roots of my black brothers and sisters who were whipped and raped just for thinking of the word freedom. “Freedom at last, thank God almighty for freedom at last.” The words of MLK still march in our hearts until this day. I am a proud black girl who was given the tough love from a mother who raised 3 kids on her own. She showed me that being a black woman is as powerful as a lion’s roar. She taught me when my struggles knocked me down, I shall walk by faith not by sight. I am beautiful and blessed with glory of God. I am a proud black girl who will always remember the Mile High City, where the skyscrapers of downtown Denver wraps me in my childhood. The mountains give me peace,

Telling Our Stories Spoken Word Class

College Track Speaks! Vol. 4

Here by Adwoa Here is Tafo. Here is the place that nurtured my mother, Auntie Vic, and Auntie Felicia. Here is peace, enshrouded in natural beauty and simple houses that connect families far and wide. Here lies in my memories, ladled with never ending smell of earth, spices, and a touch of cocoa butter. Here is Anyi, cloaked in familiar colors of ntoma as she pounds her strength into the fufu and stirs her love into the soup, all so the veranda can fill with the beautiful black faces of her children Laughter blends into a quiet, warm, African nightâ&#x20AC;Ś Here is the clear blur of my childhood, for the city came to whisk away the simplicities. Here is now a painful silence. The trees stretch out in vain to pull families back, to replace past memories stuck in beautiful handmade frames now obscured by the dust of neglect. The walls of the house were once strong, lean,

Telling Our Stories Spoken Word Class

worn, and weak. Here waits desperately for sons and daughters to return. They will wait...

College Track Speaks! Vol. 4

Broken Mirror by Jasmine The young woman finds herself pondering this morning, taking a little extra time for herself to wonder about the reflection that is looking back at her in the mirror. The broken reflection stares back at her, reminding her of what used to be. She looks back and reruns the same pictures through her head of the hardships she has endured. For this brief moment, she had it all to herself, free to let her true feelings seep through that reflection that she watches stare back in that mirror. Instant regret hits, when the running emotions become too much to bear, where she thought it was too much to handle. The only solution that she could think of was to get out, to get out and leave, so nobody could see the true extent of her pain. She wiped her tears and packed up her bags, careful to maintain her positive composure that was always put on display for the public. Standing in front of the door that will lead to a better future, she hesitates, confused at the hesitation because the door is there for her to escape. This hateful past haunted her 24/7 but she just did not know

Telling Our Stories Spoken Word Class

what the unknown would hold. If she left, would it truly be for the best or would it be the worst? Without her, they are no longer able to call for help. Her family were the ones who both broke her down and built her up, all the same. The public embarrassment would be over, but the worry would weigh on her. In the end, she forces herself not to think of what could be but what will be. Choosing to walk out of that door and not looking back was the best decision that she could make for herself because she will strive for the best. She will thrive when her dreams are achieved and she will prosper knowing that she had that strength.

College Track Speaks! Vol. 4

The Battle by Breanna Her smile use to hide the tears inside, She would scream in the middle of street, her pain yelling for help but to everybody else, it was just a whisper. This little girl is about to end a life that has not even started. She is only 15 years old, determined to give up, hoping there will be weights on her eyes, closing them shut so they could never open again. She suffocate in her own depression, gasping for a better feeling, bleeding in the inside, crying on the out. She is drowned in pain, where she needed to seek happiness, thinking that throwing back another glass would destroy the animosity inside. It only grew worse, blood dripping down her wrist, watching the devil take over her life while making bad decisions left and right. She cried, thinking there was no way out. She had forgotten that she was a child of God. He was her savior,

Telling Our Stories Spoken Word Class

her hero, her glory. She was tired of fighting a battle by herself. That night, she got down on her knees, she prayed to be awoken from this bad dream.

College Track Speaks! Vol. 4

Will I Ever Rest by Imani I wail at the top of my lungs, in a deep cry, even though, I know my agony will be hidden under my anxious smile that I make visible every day. And yes, I am tired. When will I get to rest? This anger that I have buried inside of me, goes past my mind, my heart, and my soul. This feeling is a fuel that can be lit at any second, a volcano that will erupt at any time, a wound that must bleed out now. And yes, I am tired. When will I get to rest? This mysterious fear that I have lies within my body. Fear is what keeps me up at night. Fear is what keeps my head down during the day. But when I do look up, it is my laughter that keeps everyone from thinking,

Telling Our Stories Spoken Word Class

something is wrong. And yes, I am tired. When will I get to rest? And please, do not ask if I am okay. Do not ask if I need anything because as you speak this question and my dreadful eyes meet your concerned look, I will break. And everyone will know what I have been hiding and trying to avoid this whole time. And yet, I am still tired. Is it a possibility that I will ever rest? Yes! Silence is my best form of a coping mechanism because that cry of mine is contained when I do not speak. That anger that I have is under control, when I choose to be speechless. My fear drowns when no one can hear me.

College Track Speaks! Vol. 4

And yes, even with silence, I am tired. But when will I get to rest?