My Name Is - Wendy Martinez

Wendy,
The little girl flying to Neverland,
Away from responsibilities and rules,
Flying towards the stars in the sky,
The little girl who shares no experiences with I
My back weighed down and crushed by maturity
My legs nearly become sandbags
With age and responsibility
A kid? Sure, but
Small? No.

Rita,
The devout, Catholic grandmother
The baby boomer who left
Nihilistic Gen Z to fix deep aching stab wounds
A name that forces me to become a fly trap for the generations
To become the Elmer’s glue that shittily keeps everything
Together, a void that listens to no one but the golden almighty

Martinez,
False gods drip with the saltwater they landed on
False idols with shiny pale faces, cold silver armor
Protecting them for the sins they commit
Swords, knives, and bullets buried into sun kings and bronze queens
Deep, rich gold drowning in scarlet red, 
Covered in fire,
Reduced to ash

Wendy Rita Martinez,
Put them all together and the lone instruments become an orchestra,
A powerhouse where the docile can find refuge,
Where words find new meaning and where the túnel has light