Poetry from Itzel Perez-Alarcon

Games I Hated Playing

Walking over childish jealousy cracking the ground.

Recess is incessant.

Trying to talk to strangers 

You see but try not to envy 

every dejected day:

The sun grills your skin.

Your shoes making more noise

than the conversations, you’re not having.

Each stomp gets heavier with resentment

drops of grudging sweat form.

You accelerate against your antagonists. You didn’t

have to play the game.

Run, run, run, 

Dream of shoving a milk carton down his throat

The ones from the cafeteria

It won’t hurt as much as the words he says to you

Watch the milk trickle out his mouth and picture 

it being you knowing what freedom finally is

Check his pulse

wake up

As your nemesis says


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