Friday, April 17, 2009. Which means I must wear braids. My hair in golden waves. Often unnoticed goes my people. These are words to describe me. But this is a lie, a fallacy bold. My people are noble, our roots old. At the hub of the world I reside. My king secure in mirrored Versailles. Where these ideals sprang from. Here comes the Queen! Tea and crumpets daily at one? .

Wednesday, April 15, 2009. Not A Mutt, Just A Little Mixed. I am a Colombian and Puerto Rican mix born in Bogota, Colombia. No such thing as too much. Put your hair in a bun. And your bangs over your eyes. And if some chick looks at you wrong. You beat her up right.

The ground crackled underneath his boots. The ground as parched as his mouth. With each breath his throat seared with fire. The flames ripping up and down. How long would this last? 160; The sun hung in the cloudless sky only bestowing a tangible hell. A hell he walked into for his duty for his country. Officer can you help me she said. Her baby boy lying in the dirt behind her. Who is the enemy? Am I the enemy? Lieutenant I need to help them.