Rojo, meaning red.

It is the hue of our blood and what keeps coursing through our veins to keep us alive.

On my flag it is the color to represent the union of Europe and the Americas,

When they pillaged and stripped the Aztecs of their pure blood and washed away the Nahuatl from their tongues.

Rojo, meaning red.

Because the blood that courses through my veins is a union of those victims and  their conquerors that have invaded our culture.

I have not tasted the violent force behind the white man’s hand,

I have tasted the onslaught of spic and wetback instead.

 

Blanco, meaning white.

It is the hue of our innocence and perfection.

On my flag it is the color to represent the purity of our saints in the Catholic religion,

Etched and flowing in white drapes because they are more human that our people could be.

Blanco, meaning white.

It is the hue of my skin tone, which does not match that of my people.

My blood has been tainted with that of the conqueror’s and is deemed a sin by the rest,

But to the white man’s eye I am as pure as a saint because my skin matches his.

I am more human than them.

I am not brown enough to the ancestors who stare at me in the photographs of black and white,

I am not white enough to the people who taunt me with the threat of deportation.

 

Verde, meaning green.

It is the hue of the fields we have slaved away in for years to have a better life.

On my flag it is the color to represent the independence of my nation from Spain,

The nation that erased my identity and forced me into a confusion of who I am.

Verde, meaning green.

It is the hue of my eyes which contrast against the brown and black hues of strength on their eyes.

My eyes are painted with the green leaves of our forests in Durango where are our natives dance,

But to the white man’s eye they are the beautiful crystalline of someone who is not another wetback.

I will never have to see the face of hate for my culture,

I will never see the acceptance from another paisa for my appearance.

 

Café, meaning brown.

It is the hue of La Morenita’s beautiful skin tone that has graced all her children.

The same brown of the dirt they tried to bury us under before knowing we were seeds.

Her hair, her eyes, her skin, her heart, they are all brown.

His hair, his eyes, his skin, his heart, they are all brown.

Café, meaning brown.

The same color of the dirt separating our borders from Mexico to America,

Separating my heart from my two identities.

 

My color palette is different from Maria because our colors tell different stories.

Her hues are linked to a history with pride of our culture,

They dance in a pattern of pride with our flag

High and mighty.

My hues are washed away through my palate as my tongue forgets Spanish and waivers in English

Ashamed and afraid.

She sees stars and stripes in my green eyes,

And I see the bird in Tenochtitlan in her brown eyes.

I am red, white, and blue to them.

But my heart is green, white, and red.

I am the colors of the Mexican flag.