I feel like a punk.
most teachers, Catholic School nuns, cops, and passersby on the street would say I am one.
that’s the attitude that I identify with.
one thing about the names people give to us, they can be a kind of injury.
a punk: the rotting piece of wood used as kindling to start a fire. worthless. a reject. a troublemaker. a failure.
but a name can also be a badge of honor we give to ourselves. a punk: the flame itself. an outsider who can say things people on the inside are afraid to say. a shift. being willing to fail so you can make something different.
when I pick up the guitar and start playing, the music doesn’t come out sounding what people would consider punk. it’s something else.
so here’s something else.
cookie nieves 
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