Strange Chaos

I was born into a world
of strange chaos
a planet built for gypsies
and sojourners
and those who chase
vagabond dreams
Everyone following their own voice
dancing awkwardly
to rhythms that possess
the soul

A world where dogs wear sweaters
and children freeze to death
in the streets
The American Dream
the stuff that nightmares
are made of
where evil is rewarded
and good is mocked 
an existence of opposites 
and danger
where the vulnerable
get caught in the dark
out in the 
cocaine rain
with devils looking for shelter
and angels scoring weed
the sirens wail endlessly
but get lost in the noise
camouflaged with the silent sounds
of shattered dreams and lost hope
lovers that come to the end
of their rope
love is a luxury
faith is a gamble
when your life is in shambles
in this world of strange chaos
where everyone has the copyright
on truth
and the affluent get to rewrite history
and erase 
race
and erase you
Thanks for playing
but you’re the wrong color
your pigmentation is the wrong shade
for this nation they are creating
or attempting to recreate
built on hate and fear
they love the food
they just don’t love you
Still, you take the chance
and they send you back
over the fence
Who do we go to
Where is our aid
thought I’d reach out to my neighbors
but I don’t know their names
All the doors are locked
and their doorbells
scan my face
“just leave the package on the doorstep
then turn and walk away”
All I want is some friendship
all I need is some grace
I keep looking for mana
to fall down with the rain
but it never came
and now the shelters are closed
the devils have taken their place
and I keep on walking 
thankful for the voices in my head
that have become my best friends
but they keep asking for things
that I can’t afford to give
What is the going price on a human soul
that’s been out in the cold
spiritual frostbite
and feels nothing no more
I’m sleepy but I’m woke
this strange chaos
ain’t no joke
It’s all I can do
to stay afloat
the GPS is broke
I know where home is
I just don’t know how to go
From point a to point b
Oh, say can you see
that I’m crying out 
willingly
from a modern world
that is still in the stone age
smearing the ink on every page
written by the tender hearted
outsmarted
by those who have no conscience
nor soul
selling our faith to the lowest bidder
just to feel 
like we belong
Yes, I was born into this world
of strange chaos
the world that I call
home

My Chicanismo

The neighborhood
where it all begins
where it all began
Everything I’ve ever needed to know
I learned 
in the neighborhood

Chicanos
we call it the barrio
not only khakis and Stacy’s
but our kind of Chicanismo, too
blue jeans, Chucks,
and whatever shirt
was clean enough to wear

I wasn’t any different than you
rice and beans
on the stove
although we also had days of
fish sticks, tuna sandwiches,
and banana pudding
tortillas with cheese
and chocolate milk
my personal breakfast of champions

I didn’t realize I was different
until you told me I was 
creating the void inside
and a loss of identity 
that still lives and breathes today

“You speak Spanish?”
“I thought you were Anglo!”
“You hardly have an accent!”
“But you have green eyes”
“You’re so light skinned!”
“You’re not Catholic?”  “What’s a Methodist?”
“You put ketchup on your tamales?”
“You’re not a REAL Mexican!”

What am I, then?  Who am I?
Mexican?  American?  Tejano?
Latino?  Hispano?  Chicano?  Latin/X?

Am I even here?  Do I exist at all?
Am I “real?”

I thought I was always just “me”
I wasn’t trying to be anything

I thought I just “was”

I believed I was one of you
in the neighborhood
where barrio blood 
is thicker than mole
I was never made aware of
the criteria required
to be one of you
one of “us”
I didn’t know the things 
we had in common
made us legitimate
Chicanos, Hispanos,
or whatever
things like taking mom an egg
from the fridge 
and not Tylenol
when we had bad headaches
tacos, telenovelas
speaking loudly with our hands
art, music, poetry 
faith
pictures of Jesus everywhere
and cheap drugstore art
in the house
coffee and pan dulce


I went to church
and everyone else 
in the world around me
went to Mass
Pre-destined to be
a dreamer
struggling in school
with my head in the clouds
visions of guitars
and cheering fans
waking up to bad grades
and esteem issues
like you
only wanting acceptance
needing love
searching for me
in you
but the lens is warped
and the image is inaccurate
compromised
and the club isn’t accepting
any new versions of its members
at this time
now, from son to father to
grandfather,
I have always only been “me”
I don’t wear green contact lenses
I don’t see the world in green

my skin’s pigmentation 
the shade of ancestors
I never knew
but tattooed me with 
their truth
my pre-mature gray hair 
a maternal inheritance
and my grandfather’s crown

whoever I am
whatever I am
the color of my soul
is Brown
my spirit sings the songs 
of our border people 
my soul was baptized in the waters
of the Rio Grande River
my eucharist is also
blood and blue corn
can’t we just have communion
can’t you see that I’m your brother
whatever color the box says
I come in

don’t look at my face
listen to my voice
I speak your language
I sound like you
speaking truth, love, 
and hope
despite the struggles and hardships
we all face
I fall and rise
and rise again
just like you
with the sounds of guitars
and accordions softly playing
in the background
shuffling over the bean pods
from the Mesquite trees
that fall at my feet

I believe in Jesus Christ
and the practice of curanderismo
the lives of the saints
and the existence of brujas
that there is poetry in every moment
and a song in every heartache
I am sold on the idea that passion
between two lovers
and love is the best chance
that any of us has for peace in the world
Who am I?  What am I?

I am a human being and God’s beloved creation.
I am an American of Mexican decent.
I am Chicano. I am a border child.
I am Tejano.
I am green-eyed and light skinned.
I like salsa and ketchup on tamales
and tortillas with butter
I am a lover and a revolutionary
a sinner saved by grace

I am your brother
and without a doubt
one of “you”

one of “us”

Roberto Rocha is the author of Tamarindo Dreams: A Collection of Barrio Poetry. He is a native of the Rio Grande Valley in South Texas, where most of the inspiration for his writing comes from.