Finding it
Hidden behind a shadow
Wearing a mask
Pretending no one could see it
Feeling slick
As if its image
Wasn't there
As if it was dead
But the mirror doesn't lie
In my sleep they stitched up the corners of my eyes by one-fourth. Under my eyes they made microscopic incisions that the naked eye can't see. They think they're clever trying to change my appearance. But I know who they are and they're not going to steal my identity! I know they are planning to forge a birth certificate and produce a phony ID card to impersonate me. There is a master plan and I'm on to them.
The kidnapper, extortionist, ugly-ass bitch isn't going to get away with her plan. She thinks she's slick, but she's retarded as they come. At the moment, she's impersonating my sister. She's been doing it for years and I've played along with it only to please my mother. She's gullible, so easy to fool. She doesn't even remember my real sister because of her mental illness. They say I'm just like her. But I don't believe a word of it.
Cutting holes in the pipes
Searching for the camera
Under the cricket's eye
You make yourself
Useless
And go to sleep.
You have no cares
Because
You've settled in.
You dream you're someone else.
You dream you're a chameleon.
You're unrecognizable to yourself
When you look in the mirror.
But once the dream
Ends and
You're wide awake:
You can't mask or
Disguise
Your uselessness.
Why can't you dream a job?
Why can't you dream something
That will get you away from my wallet?
You dream you're a chameleon.
Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal, 38, was born in Cuernavaca, Morelos (Mexico), and has lived in Los Angeles County since age 7. He works in the mental health field. His poems in English and Spanish have appeared in The American Dissident, The Blue Collar Review, Pemmican Press, and Struggle Magazine. His first book of poems, Raw Materials, is from Pygmy Forest Press.