My experience as a blogger

My experience with the blog has been a disaster. Sincerely, I believe that the idea of ​​doing a blog and write about different topics is very good but try to learn English using this method requires extra time that it’s difficult to get with all the academic load. This situacion, has provoked my collapse while  Im writing this last entry.But always is good too see things in a positive way. From this perspective, this blog has made me think about different topics: pets, technology, music, movies, etc.. I was surprised to realize that I dont have much things that can be called "favorite". For example, I like music but not a particular style, same thing happened with technology and even more with movies. In that sense, being a blogger has helped me to discover lots of things about myself that i didn’t know..I love writing, but writing in English is definitely not my strength. I acctually think that it's an activity that I will not repeat (unless circumstances force me)I'll take my last words to finish this damn blog, to show one of my poems that has been well received at theUniversity.With that I say goodbye, hopefuly for ever.


My Class
I am the one who runs in the streets
I am the one who yells, the one who picks up the
stone
And the one that without helmet, and without shield
dodges the bullets of the poverty…
the days 30th chase me
And I hide as a child in the trees
Perhaps a little higher up
I manage to save myself.
They says that I am of middle class,
And I went to many classes
I say that they has no class to say who am I,
Where do I belong and where do I go.
They think that I am a resentful
Because I don't buy their dreams of the North.
I prefer to use ripped clothes
But it's mine, and it has smell of fight,
Of the working class, of people, of subversion…
They believe that I wanted to see the destruction
They believe that I dream of a bygone time
And I say to them, the bombardment did not finish
Now, dress up of invisible, it tortures us.
I walk across the streets lifting my flag
Because I have engraved in my soul my slogan
Our hands will be returned, they will be joined
again,
But now they will be harsher, blacker, stronger.
Until we remove from they our rights without mercy.
I am the one who runs in the streets
I am the one who yells, the one who picks up the
stone
And the one that without helmet, and without shield
Raises up the war.