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Dana Trick's Poems

First generation Mexican-Canadian-American and lover of skulls and books, Dana Trick lives in Southern California where it is clearly foolish to wear black any day but she does it anyway. When she isn’t being a historian, she spends her days writing emotional poems and weird stories, and drawing comic strips that she thinks are hilarious. She enjoys learning about the history and the various mythologies of Latin America and Asia, but her interest is mainly on the history of autism, which she has. Her work has been published in Art of Autism, the Lothlorien Poetry Journal, and The Ugly Writers. She wishes the reader a nice day.


In Memoriam Poem

Once again, 

Hundreds of people are 

Slaughtered mercilessly.

Once again,

Artists are dedicating

Songs, paintings, and poems

To those who have died.

This has never happened before—no, wait,

It always has been that way.

How many 

"In Memorium" poems

Must be composed 

On this parchment conveyor belt?

Lo & Behold, The Stereotype 

A millilumen of history and culture

Eroded into a reference point

To someone else’s superiority. 

Born a human just like them,

But forced to follow their strict ballet

Of scapegoat and villain,

Of idiot and punchline.

Criminalizing mine and others’ breath and voice,

Transforming existence to sins and demons

To justify slaughter and slavery by the hypocrite saviors. 

In my paradox perspective,

When the “superior” defines 


To contain art, dignity, wisdom, achievements, and skill—

Doesn’t that make them

Just as inferior as me? 

When the “superior” defines 


As inhuman violence, lack of love and decency, devoid of fairness—

Doesn’t that make me 

As superior as them? 


Not matter how much sway and terror

The winners wave over me

To carry on this delusional dance,

I continue to rebel for myself,

Loving my ancestors,

Loving my history,

Loving my culture, 

Loving myself.

Never Too Late

Please tell me 

It's not too late.

Please don't tell me 

It's wrong to help people.

Please tell me

There's still good things

Left in this world.

Please don’t tell me

That I should look out 

For myself. 

Please tell me that

I should use this kind,

Bleeding broken heart

To help others. 

Please don’t tell

That it isn’t worth it,

That everyone is going 

To take advantage of you 

And tear apart this broken bleeding heart. 

Please tell me that 

It’s okay to try to help,

To find hope,

To be kind, 

To be happy, 

To be free. 

Song of Heart-on-Sleeve

Throughout my life,

I created these ugly pictures and crappy poems

Of wishing someone to hold me, 

Of dreaming someone to say “I love you” to me,

Even when I growl “I hate you so much, you make me sick”

In a silent breath towards the strangers walking behind. 

How can let loose these pent-up tears inside

In a world where the mercy of vulnerability

Isn’t either allowed or tolerated? 

What do I really want to do in this life? 

When can my bleeding broken heart

Stop tearing itself apart? 

When I can I smile without the help

Of the cringy comedy mask? 

Despite these contradictions and hypocrisy,

I still wear my broken heart on my sleeve. 

Despite the inevitable void of death and destruction,

I still wear my bleeding heart on sleeve.  

Fuck it all,

I’m going to live with my broken bleeding heart

In this canvas of life and humanity! 

The Innocent Bystander Lies Again

As victims are dragged to their horror and despair,

They held out their hands out in hope of someone catching it, 

But silence answered.

Now looking back through the pages of history,

The question is asked:

What would you do during all of this?

You would probably say that you wouldn’t be 

A bystander 

But you are dreaming and drowning in your lies.

Let’s be honest, 

You’ll be ensnared by the drama of your life,

Full of petty situations and mundane misery,

Stitched together by employment, finances, and relationships

That wouldn’t let you go, that you wouldn’t let go,

Though clearly very important stuff is keeping you 

From playing the good Samaritan.


Thought provoking poems

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