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Poems by Dana Trick

Born a first-generation Mexican-Canadian-American autistic with ADHD, Dana Trick lives in Southern California where it is clearly foolish to wear black any day but she does it anyway. She spends her days writing emotional poems and weird stories, and drawing crappy art and comic strips. She enjoys learning about the history and the various mythologies of Latin America and Asia as well as the history and culture of disabilities. Her work has been published in the Art of Autism, the Lothlorien Poetry Journal, The Quiver Review, and The Ugly Writers. She wishes the reader a nice day.


I hated these pieces of clothing as a child.

A weak defense,

Pathetic girly things,

A prison of cloth. 

In a generation-old rebellion,

I dutifully wore pants and shorts,

Proving my ability, my strength, my difference

To anyone who complains of my failing feminity,

To anyone who wears misogynism on their selves. 


As an adult overflowing with questions and doubts,

The hidden envy is all over me

As I daydream of myself

Walking in the sublime freedom of a skirt. 

Song of Maturity

Through my headphones,

The calming lullabies traveling 

Through my mind like a ribbon.

The sweet melodies and songs 

Are just the repeating chants 

Of a bad poet—Why do I listen to them?

With these trembling hands,

I took the soft headphones off.

In the blazing heat of the day,

I see a sight beyond imagination:

A scene of mangled notes. 

Through the flames of burning instruments,

I find the beauty of humanity 

Past the sorrowful screams.

Without a wall between me and the world,

Myself now drenched in fear and scars,

I walk forwards. 

Untitled 10

I don't know 

What's wrong with me,


Can't you hear 

My mind going





To Share a Poem 

To share a poem is truly terrifying. 

I made them with my screams, 

My tears, my hopes, my dreams, 

My humor, my pride, my hatred, 

My kindness, my stubbornness, my beliefs,

My heart, myself. 

As an eager child so foolish in daydreaming,

I once reckless sang my poems 

To my friends who loved them,

But now I can no longer find them 

In this world of adulthood,

Where my mouth is sown shut. 

But frequently, too often, too silent, 

I’d screamed my poems to nowhere 

But stopping when strangers get too close. 

I would like very much

To recklessly and carelessly sing my heart again.

Sad Songs

Here on this blank paper,

I wrote my tears

And threw it into the sea of people.

Those words

Contain a private scribble 

That I suddenly want to show the world.

With messy handwriting 

And definitions scattered,

I cast the bottle recklessly.

It's not meant for someone

But I hope whoever picks it up,

Please don't shatter my message.

This Glass of Milk Goes To The Latinx Who Don’t Like Spicy

This cup of milk goes to the Latinxs 

Whose tongues of Spanish and Indigenous

Can’t handle the salsas of their mamas, tias, and abuelitas.  

This jug of dairy goes to the Latinxs 

Who desperately and meticulously 

Pick out the pieces of bright peepers and jalapenos  

From the plates in front of them, 

Depressingly avoiding their family's disappointing stares. 

This carton of leche goes to the Latinxs

Who wear their Latinx heart on their sleeves 

Each time they be who they are, 

Each time they love who they are,

Each time they love the communities they are a part of.

Smashing Mirrors

Hating the perfect image I have of myself.

Hating the imperfect reality I live in,

I look at the mirror in front of me. 

Tears streaming from my hurt eyes,

I smash the mirror with wraith, 

Destroying the image and reality 

From my confused mind.

I let the falling shards of glass 

Scar these bare hands of mine,

The blood crying out the words 

I’ve hidden for so long.

Smashed Mirrors

Come, my dear,

Let me carry your fears.

When you see the broken shards,

All the honest lies and traitorous truths,

Reflect on what you lost and learned

As I cradle you in broken worlds.  

In time, 

Those scars will heal

And advise you

If you let them.


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