MEXICAN
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When my ice cream has fallen
and my eyes seems to droop.
I look to the stars,
and when the celestial constallations don't seem familiar
or don't show up at all to greet the recital in my eyes
Born in classic white suburbia,
The most American Dream of cities.
Gifted with white picket fences,
Highly rated schools,
And a Mexican population of 3.2%.
I can’t pinpoint the exact moment when I discovered I was Mexican
Of course, I always knew
But snippets of realization
Sprinkled into my lifetime of 16 years
Pale and blue-eyed
they call me a gringa but that's not who I am.
Some say that I'm lucky
that I don't look like a stereotype,
but we are people, not Jeopardy questions
Undocumented aliens,
Racists see them as the enemies
They’re trying to make a living for themselves,
Not to mention for their families.
Getting deported by I.C.E
So hard to comprehend
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,
Black coffee, dirty nails,
Calloused hands open a morning paper.
Smeared ink, mirrored print,
A gloomy world must be brightened somehow.
My light skin and colored eyesguarantee me a place in society.They also provide amistaken identity.
My momma told to never be afraid of anything, but two things
El cucuy and sometimes her chancla.
I was raised in a ear pulling, frijole smelling, cumbia playing
1492.
The year America stopped being great,
and turned into a country full of abusement,
a center of hate.
We are the epitome of pride and success
Leaders in our fields-and in the fields
Melanin seeps in our skin
Pride runs through our veins
“This country is great”I am an immigrant.My dad came as a dreamer,my mother a nervous wreck,and I, the unwilling participant.
Nothing more what elese to say?
Have our days been counted?
What to do but pray?
I live a life of oppresion
And being brown is my obsession
But how has my color helped me?
I cannot stand by and lie
to the people my family left behind in another country
and tell them that we live great lives
I cannot look them in the eyes when I think of the confederate flags I see hanging outside
I live in a magical world where a land called borderlandia exists,
where my ancestors slaved away to provide for their familia.
So I could be here today,
I am pieces of my ancestors.
Two souls live in my body
One has endless American pride
The other likes to hide
American I am called by brilliance
Mexican by my appearnce
Land of the free and of the brave is for the snobby
"How are you even here right now?"
I got here by myself, my own merits and determination!
"Yeah right! You Mexicans are what's wrong with this nation!"
I am am a warrior who never stops fighting I am a proud Mexican female who is not afraid to show her roots I am courageous and piercing despite my accent
[SHE OPENS THE DOORS AS PER USUAL, LETTING IN ORANGE SUNLIGHT AND A SOFT BREEZE UNTAMED BY THE HEAT. A SMALL DRYING LEAF FLIES INTO THE STEPS, LANDS IN THE FLOOR OF THE HOUSE’S ENTRANCE. SHE KICKS IT BACK OUT.]
The place I call home -Jessica Jazmin Michaca Silva
I come from a place where families are always united
I come from a place where music is always blasting at every corner
I come from the birds and the bees,
or at least
that's what they once told me
i come from outer space,
i'm an alien
and I'm on a spaceship moving back and forth through time.
Do I look like a criminal or rapist?
I'm not a criminal and I'm not rapist
I am angry.
I am angry that people who support Donald Trump are proud of it
Because I have imperfect Spanish,
I am never Mexican enough to those who speak better than me
Because I have imperfect English,
I am always too Mexican for those who speak better than me
In respone to Walt Whitman, Langston Hughes, and Julia Alvarez:
I, too, sing America,
I am westernized over my Mexican heritage.
I am from the unknown,
from the sweet nector and the pillow of comfort,
i am from sweaty skins all around,
(rasping,damp,sun biting my skin)
i am from the iris,
the oak tree,
birds here and there
“Yo soy morena-clara.”
I am in the middle of the spectrum, between dark cocoa and light vanilla skin.
I am caramel mocha or medium deep according to makeup industries.
They call us
thieves -
filthy, hungry,
bean-eating
wetback thieves.
They look at our
brown skin
and sneer.
But
they do not know
who we really are.
Hated onAnd beat uponBecause the way they live Is "wrong" Who are you to take the role Go and take another's soul
Everyday is the same as yesterday
I fight to be a new me but it always flees
The chance to change my families name itches at my mind
That new me must come up and rise
i wonder who it could be
that would want me for me
who could include my faults
in whats best of me
why cant i see
when will he show
its been a dream of mine
he holds the key
No father
mother here
but really there
I am here
but really
where?
nature
or really nurture?
Nationality from the South
Separated from the U.S
With a giant wall
Go back home they say
Go hop over they say
This is home I say
I belong here I say
Nationality from the South
Welcome to Chicanos- r-us
We service all of your needs
Will school principals go to isle 12?
We still have a few janitors here
Desperate for a job
Yes, they are Mexican
Ready for their graveyard shift
Everytime I look at a paper it has:
Black, White, Chinese, Indian, etc...
Why can't it just say American?
I don't want to be labeled as those things,
I'm not black, I'm not white,
I'm just an American.
This land has been alterd
every corner i turn
i see my people suffer
the fire in our soul heavily burns.
we've been building a land for generations
a place founded by love, peace and communication
His game was astronomical
This young boy who loved to hunt
In the underbrush of the forest
sun halve past twelve
A fox appeared ahead
Golden fur and bright brown eyes
Just dust I am, but God did mold my soul
I saw the light but I was born in war
My place of birth, no food it bore only war
The crops did die; the men did die and die
My mom did flee, my dad as well and I.
Though my skin is white, I still have to fight.
For education, equality, acceptance. I promise I'm bright.
Actually, I'm Hispanic, but you couldn't tell by my skin.
Call myself hispanic, and it's considered a sin.
It is the color from which we rise
The color of rich soil from a land uninhabited and fertile
That soon became home to innovative civilizations
The Americas’ first mathematicians, astronomers, and writers
My mom knows how to make tamales,
Yours does not.
My mom knows how to shred the chicken with such grace
Yours does not.
My mom knows how to pound the masa with such pace
Yours does not.
I was born out of two genocides.
The first of European colonization the destruction of my Aztec bloodline,
by my blonde hair green eyed grandfather making me Mexican,
being that I was born and raised on our fertile land...
