Resistance in a money filled fist?

Filipinos in America
How did they come to be?
Across ships and planes
And tumultuous raft like
Dreams

Held together by thin rope
Of determination
Why so determined to leave?
Country bled dry
That they drank own blood
And was thirsty for more
So mesmerized by the flow of ocean
Fueling desire to swallow more dreams
Until satisfied.
We forget how we've been bitten
Dreamin how to get our piece of the pie.

Breaking the spell
By facing the wound
Put the dirt to the neck
Feel the sting of how it still
Poisons us here.

Poison is the medicine for poison
Ask why does it hurt
When we're supposedly
Medicated
By the dollars we wear
To bandage
Our raw calloused feet.
We choose to make it
Passing homeless black men
And cracked out white women
Just to get to housekeeping gig
Sanitize sheets
Like a blank easel
For rich folks to forget
The sight outside
And pain the life
They choose to see.

We work cause
We have mouths to feed.
Kids growing up wanting
Nikes, down jackets
And thick plastic earrings.
Talking bout hella this
Nigga that
Living my fantasy
Protected by my commitment to work
For this American Dream.
So I can pass that man
Asking for change
And hold on to my silver in a fist
As resistance?

Survival is to play the game
I was taught to play
Cause to break the rules
Is to be tortured and rape
In a land not so far away

Yet there are those who speak
By paying for peace and privilege
Upon the backs
They step to speak
Higher in the halls of power

II.
Slowly memories emerge on my skin
Surfacing calloused hands
Tight lips
Heart sealed shut
Ice cold blood
Frozen in this concrete jungle.

I learn to wear wrinkles
Like tree rings of age
Silent
Because they prey on boisterous
Youth blossoming their fragile petals

Back in the day
We trained to walk stiff
Like soldiers during martial law
Curfew was the power
That ran us like robots

Turned off, turned on
Changing fingers keep flippin switches
Same way
When it was dark
Some escaped to another place
Only to find
New land timed
But the pocket watch
Of the all-seeing eye

They see us dance for them
But behind the smile
Eyes ungrateful
Crisp our bed sheets
Dust free are the carpets
Yet I've returned home
With hits and blows
Of telephone bills
Slapping me silly
Until I've turned ill
Leaving a legacy of struggle
For our children to witness
I adapt like the shell of an
Empty mailbox
When I retreat within
I search for letters
From another land
Instead I hear muffled
Echoes
Of street protests
My child's voice on a bull horn

I look out
Slowly
Memory emerges from my skin
It is a tear drop dripped from my eyes
My child's face opens like a blossom
Her voice are like seeds
Being carried away by the wind!