By Kicking Back on Sundays
Dear Carlos Andrés Gómez,
Three months before I was slated to go to college, my tastes changed. Don’t get me wrong, I still love Kafka, but if I were able to give up an hour of my life, if I were to drop my heavy books and step outside of the mail room that I look at every week for 10 hours, well, I would choose to spend it with you, Carlos Andrés Gomez. Why? You see, your poem is the first of many that fell into my lap like a silent child, yet inspired a deep feeling of passion and love within me. “What’s Genocide?” opened up my senses, and made my love for social work and poetry deepen. I became consumed; looking up every spoken word poet that was within reaching distance of me. Carlos, you ripped open my world with burning words, firing them into the air and letting them descend upon their listeners like quickened heartbeats, I never had a chance. I fell in love with your words.
So Carlos, this is it, you are the one I would spend my hour with. You seem like a simple guy, one who enjoys the simple things in life. Maybe we would meet up in a coffee shop, or perhaps have a small picnic outside depending on the weather. We would talk about family, friends and the things that make us love the most. The things that make our hearts sink into the bottom of our shoes. This is the moment of truth. I would ask you why you still choose to tour the country. What makes you share you innermost feelings? Why do I feel like you are a puppet master, playing with my heartstrings to make me feel the emotions pounding me with every intonation and silent pause? I would ask you what keeps you going, and what advice can you give a 20-years young student who has yet to truly experience the whole world? I know you won’t have all the answers, but maybe you’d give me some new perspective that I have never considered before.
These days are getting longer, as I struggle to find my definite place hidden amongst the career choices that I could pick from, I come back from class, and I feel as if my chest is being crushed. A weight the size of an aircraft is resting upon my chest. How am I to go on? How will I bring myself to not be crushed under the weight of my future? I sit in my chair and go to YouTube and your poetry meets me there. We spend a few minutes together, laughing, or crying, depending on the poem, and I feel renewed. The world will not be as scary, because I know I am not the only one who cares.
What is Genocide?