Me For Now

By: Joseph T. Enriquez

There‘re so many things I want to share and say,
Stories and lessons bringing my knowledge to a brighter day.
Every week, every workshop asked, ―Who are you?‖
Who I am is something people seem to misconstrue.
To start off the list, I‘ll say my favorite color is blue.
I have tended to lean away from change, preferring the older from the new.
Ten weeks ago, when I started internship.
I had no idea the revelation that I would experience,
Like eating fries with a side of ranch dip.
Meeting all of these new faces for that first time, I had fear and its-
– Amazing to see how much I‘ve grown to be,
Curious, ambitious- trying to hone a mind that‘s free.
Before we created all of these pieces that represent who we are,
I was freaking out.
Releasing the demons from the jar.
Through all these mediums that we‘ve been speaking out-
Though I have become a Filipino-American who is more confident.
I have grown each day in each workshop while I pay me rent.
I want to end this with a bit of poetry,

A thank you segment to all yall‘s hearts from me.
I‘m thankful for all of the times I‘ve had,
Going from fad to fad, passing the crazies and mad.
I‘m thankful for all of those family moments,
And knowing when I‘m in trouble it‘s okay to go home. It‘s-
– Awesome to know that no matter what I do,
You all will continue to care with a love that is true.
I always wonder why I do what I do,
And why I have done what I have done.
Could it have to do with my favorite color being blue?
Knowledge is identity and politics is power.
I am just another Filipino who loves to sing in the shower.
Dancing hip-hop, Filipino folk and ballroom is my passion.
This college life seems to be a rush on the fast lane.
To all of the coordinators, you all have changed my future.
I always question the reason for why we all have sutures.
Because my brain can‘t be held down by a skull that can‘t expand.

I have so many aspirations at the palm of my hands.
So many decisions to make or break,
So many projects to complete or fake,
The future is something said to not be written in stone.
I hope that after all this we‘ll all still talk on the phone.


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Filed under 2010-2011, Poems

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