World entered on April 24th of 1943- Into a home divided by Religious fanaticism, alcoholism, Spiritualism, male chauvinism And the broken marriage of two poor working people Who were many times out of work.
Into el Asilo de los Pobres In Mayaguez, Puerto Rico- Nuns and shelter of the poor- Attempts at infantile institutionalization Resisted by bed wetting, Food snatching, tantrums And doubt of religious instruction. Humiliated and abused; Pervert performing oral stimulation On my childish organ.
Into arrabales, shanty houses, Curly haired barefoot boy With dirty hands and face Listening to sexual ecstasy Of father and stepmother Through a cardboard wall Sleeping half awake In an unwashed canvas hammock, Watching candles aflame to stone idols Sanctified by the church as saints, Dreaming with half erected penis, Not understanding sex.
Into a plane hitting air pockets All the way to New York, Frightened half to death like a runaway From a colony become an undefined commonwealth Of the Free Associated State of Puerto Rico; And I, a Puerto Rican, Now a “little white spic” With a dark uncle and Indian grandmother.
Into a roach-infested apartment In front of the Daily News building, Watching from a window Americans with cars and money Passing by while bums roamed the streets. Watching, listening, learning A foreign language by ear and memory; Mimicking American talk in bars, Americans laughing at me, Enjoying themselves, giving me nickels and dimes- My early hustle.
Into public school Sleeping in the back seat, Trying, in moments of wakefulness, To remember a little something- Words like Oxygen, food, sex, money, Naked and poor. Hungry. Fainting and banging my head against the wall Saying: “estupido! estupido!” Making the teacher worry and the others laugh.
Into a Pentecostal church In Vigilias- Drinking coffee and eating crackers, Listening to gospel songs, Looking at people jump around Speaking in strange tongues, Saying: “sazy zaca suzza su foo la roo!” Still trying to understand; The holy and angelic tongues reminding Of my English mimicry. Hearing sermons on the burning hell Of fire and brimstone Reserved for dummies like me. Falling asleep in a back seat And pissing all over the floor While Christians prayed for my cure.
Into a hospital called Bellevue With boils all over by body Which the Chinese doctors could not define; Sick unto death and saved only By my faithful praying mother Anointing me with oil. Then into Bellevue again For falling from a fourth floor window While playing Superman- Jumping from a fire escape, thinking I could fly.
In the hospital probed by psychiatrists, Labeled “problem child”, Refusing to eat my green peas, Arguing with the nurse, Flinging peas on the floor. Bed covered with a fishing net, Reach out, razor blade in hand, Cutting the net. Going to a window Threatening to jump out, Thinking I could fly Like the little angels of heaven And like Superman on television.
Into the neighbor’s apartment Through the fire escape window; Stealing a flashlight, seven dollars, Jewelry, other things, Leaving a cigar in his mouth While he slept his drunkenness away. Stripped by a fanatical preacher stepfather And whipped with a belt till blue, Left alone and naked. Taken to children’s court And signed away to Wiltwyck, School for problem and troubled children, Upstate, away from home. Mixing, integrating, learning crime, Watching and enjoying homosexual acts, Beaten, abused, anglonized In name and education. Escaping, A wild and runaway child, In fear, dread, trembling, Confused and then set loose.
Into gangs, school brawls, Hating whitey as all spics and niggers Are taught to do by the American way of life; Yet having white friends, Black and Puerto Rican brothers, Catholic, Protestants, Confused like me; Trying to survive in a hostile land, Learning to fight in order to live In the cruel American world; Dancing to Lord Price, Presley, The Platters, The Teenagers, Drinking wine and smoking pot- The unprescribed medicine for pain- Jitterbugging my way to Puerto Rico again.
Into the island, into Mayaguez, Land and town of my birth, Living in squalor, Without feeling the pain in me; Seeing a stepmother hang while a rope from my hammock Squeezed her troubled soul out of this world; Indifferent to pain and poverty, Smiling at those Puerto Ricans who kept the watch All night long over her dead body Shedding their funeral tears and praying So that her soul might rest in peace. My father scolded me for not believing In disembodied spirits While he drank bottled spirits to ease his pain.
Trouble all around. My girl calling me a hoodlum, Smacking my face in public, And I, drunk over puppy love, Getting into a fight, Trying to cut another boy’s neck, When he threw bottles at me.
Arrested and sent away again, Into the industrial school in Mayaguez With bars on the windows. Forced to work, refusing, resisting, Loving Puerto Ricans But hating institutions, Hating tough guys Because I wanted to be tough and rough; Beat up again by administrators, Refusing helping hands, Cursing gentle voices, Becoming hard and strong, Fighting off sexual advances, Making love with some, Slowly becoming a person- Alienated from all but myself. Escaping again and again Till escaping at last; Not willing to be criminalized Nor penalized nor institutionalized, Like a runaway slave In flight for my life.
Into New York again, Joining the Mau Maus at Fort Green, Stabbing, drinking, schooling, Fooling, rolling, desperate and angry At something, someone, Without direction; Stealing a car, put on probation, Never reporting, always on the run; Facing the cruel world-un macho at last With leather jacket, brass knuckles, Chain, knife, gun and all; Gang fighter, street rumbler, Rebel in an unknown cause, Run out of Brooklyn by white boys, Learning to hate in generalized terms Anglos, Blacks, Ricans And all those who needed my hate- Half devil, half saint, part time pimp, Part time male prostitute, Part this and part that, With a little spice and a little nice But never complete.
Into a playground with a gang Bearing a knife that I never used And wearing a cape to look sinister and cruel. Taking the blame for what I did not do, Wanting to strike back at a cruel society- Losing my soul in infamy. Fading into a bloody night away from the world or reality, Seeking importance and immortality. Trapped by a legal system which believed the story Of a wild and crazy child; Which sensationalized crime in newspapers, movies, TV, Never looking at the truth, Believing the lies of a sixteen year old With the mind of a twelve year child’ A system ready to kill a mentally disturbed child In the electric chair To take public revenge and appease public uproar.
Into a prison, a mental hospital, Strip cells, beatings, The Caped Crusader went, innocent of mind’ For eighteen years he struggled For life, liberty, dignity; Educating himself, rehabilitating himself, Revolutionizing his mind and body In spite for dehumanizing Concrete, steel and iron penal systems’ Redirecting his hate intelligently, Changing souls and conditions around him Fighting the pigs, Struggling for life.
Have I not earned the right To freedom and flight?
Into Fishkill the revolutionary went With fist and book, With pen and need to reveal, With courage for sacrifice, To protest those injustices that persist. Capeman, Dracula- Call me what you please- I work and fight for the poor.
I must continue like this until you understand That someday I will return To pick up the struggle where I went wrong.
Into the streets Better and ready I come’ Ready for struggle, liberation Through power and love. Freedom belongs to the strong.
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