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I Believe in Living

  i believe in living.i believe in the spectrumof Beta days and Gamma people.i believe in sunshine.In windmills and waterfalls,tricycles and rocking chairs;And i believe that seeds grow into sprouts.And sprouts grow into trees.i believe in the magic of the hands.And in the wisdom of the eyes.i believe in rain and tears.And in the blood of infinity. i believe in life.And i have seen the death parademarch through the torso of the earth,sculpting mud bodies in its pathi have seen the destruction of the daylightand seen bloodthirsty maggotsprayed to and saluted i have seen the kind become the blindand the…

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Submissions Y Presentaciones

In the commitment to pursue silenced experiences, Malintzine is looking for submissions that enact social transformation, create opportunities for dialogue and instigate reflection. Do not let your experience continue to be silenced! Please submit your stories, poems, quotes, etc. to malintzine@gmail.com En el compromiso de llevar adelante las experiencias silenciadas, Malintzine está buscando presentaciones que promulgan la transformación social y la creación de espacios de diálogo que instigan la reflexión . No dejes que tu experiencia siga siendo silenciada! Por favor envía tus historias, poemas, citas, etc. a malintzine@gmail.com

Dyke

You can call me Alex or Alexandra The first time I said I liked girls my voice brokeEveryone turned to me as if I had cursed at the dinner tableMy mother told me to go take a shower and think about it But mom, you can’t wash off who you areAnd yes, I have been thinking about itA lot In a small town news spreads like wildfireI was the walking disappointment in the middle of town squareI had been reduced to it till I was purged of this evil that threatened to claim my soulNo one would sit next to me in classAnd…

LIAR!!!

LIAR!!! You call yourself an activist Fighting for injustices You say you’re in touch with your feminist side YET……… Behind closed doors you’re a lying, cheating, whore You cruelly lie and pretend You play games You claim to be a hard core Xicano Fighting for OUR cause How is it then….you can bring a fellow comrade down You deceive and lie about yourself Pretending to be into me Only to let me down Lied about having a girl friend Lied about being available Lied about your calls and texts You made me promises you didn’t keep Then excused yourself behind…

Narratives of Silence

I fail to fear the consequences of exclusion, for those who cannotdeal with the fact that I spit truth and fire with my tongue, werenever meant to be a part of my life In the battlefield of narratives we can make a conscious effort totell truth from our perspective or alter it in our private interest.The narrative is always in relation to the past and it continuouslyreaffirms our identity no matter how tarnished it is. Meaning that inorder to survive, find strength, or safety, we modify the reality ofour past to fit our present needs. However, in modifying our narrativewe…

Re-imagining the Home through Conscious ways of Healing

Like Anzaldua I have attempted carrying home on my back but sometimes carrying home includes carrying a lot more, to the point that it becomes overbearing. I have been divulging in the words of Eden E. Torres the Chicana academic who brought us Chicana Without Apology; however, her words struck me when she began talking about the difficulty in maintaining mental health. And I wondered, what happens when home becomes a threat to your mental health? I’d like to start with a quote by Friedrich Nietzche—“the most spiritual human beings, assuming they are the most courageous, also experience by far…

I Swore My Heart Away When I Was 14

I Swore My Heart Away When I Was 14. I remember lying in bed rogandole a la virgencita to please keep my dad safe from harm hoping for a call I knew I wasn’t gonna get. Praying I wouldn’t get a phone call that he’s been found dead by some dumpster. I remember a night in particular when I got tired of praying for him So I prayed for me. Le pedi que me isiera no quererlo mas Que lo sacara de mi corazon I cried big heavy tears that soaked my pillow and mixed with bugers and saliva. I…

Leave Love Left Where Love Died

Because I thought I could change you with ‘the right kind of love’, I took whatever you gave me. Because drunk meetings in dark closets and rooms were romantic enough to let you take off all my clothes. Because I thought that you holding my hair back while I gave you head meant you cared. Because after spending an entire day right beside you, secret eye signals kept me content. Because I thought that when you told me stories about your mom and dad, you gave me keys. Because when you really did give me keys to parts of you,…

La lucha, they say, is no place for love letters

It´s finally sunset on top of the mountain but the shades of red are simply the sky’s reflection of the anger in your words: “I don’t understand how your mind works. I don’t like how your mind works” you said. Between shades of silent frustration, I hear again and again the echo of those words, as I  struggle to ground myself in the poems and tales of those who were abused by their compañeros within the movement. La lucha, they say, is no place for love letters.   “I don’t like how your mind works. I don’t like how your…