Creation 3 - Rap Song

A combination rap with Cindy Rebellon, this is my half of 16 bars & a hook:

[16 bars]

Our roomie Keady is Irish like Spring

Can’t get in her pants cuz she wears a promising ring

White like Casper, & she stays repping Queens

Studying Biology because she likes them genes

Funny how she thinks she’s the smartest of us all

But don’t get scared when she blends into the wall.

She’s into rap, her favorite rapper’s Yeezy

Only for him she would act sleezy

Let’s end the rap with Cindy

She has a stuffed giraffe

His name is Matthew

He’s her better half.

As you can see, she’s short and petite

Can’t take her anywhere without a car seat.

She loves her Arizona Green Tea

But not more than going on a shopping spree.

[Hook]

Suite 322, you know how we do.

Come to class, we about to school you.

Creation - 2 Poem

"When Your Pride Leaves a Scar"

Mi Papa, light eyes, dark skinned, AFRO-BORIQUEN.

He was the father of my father & my only grandfather.

Swept me away almost every summer

to the island of my ancestors. PUERTO RICO

It was my second home & still is.

See the man was known throughout the states

& his island querido.

For he was a humble man, very grand, and always put others before him.

He was Latino to the full and everyone knew it.

The pride was ever to be hidden and is driven within me through him.

But because an argument parents, I just drifted myself away from that family even my Papa.

Months past, as my pride to stay in contact took the best of me.

Then a call from my father hit me like an atomic bomb…

Sorry mi hija pero Papa is gone. Regrets run through my head of what I should of, could of,

But didn’t do to make our last moments better. Now because of the death of a loved one, the family was together.

Te amo Papa are the only words I wish I could have said.

How my price like me with my scars.

RIP Papa. 

Creation 1 - Poem

                                                  A Toast to Where I’m From

Abuelita is always cooking, Mami is always working.

Where the Puertorican blood is thick, because I was born into the culture not the land.

Where the loud Spanish music plays and the rhythm goes from my body into my brain

Hips are like a washing machine,

Feet so quick like NYC’s rush hours.

Where translating isn't viewed as a job but a way of life.

Our people are supposed to stick together, but instead we fight.

New cultures are introduced to me, but does that change what I am?

These different cultures mixed with some of my sazon and adobo,

                                                          Is what made me who I am.