Aroz con leche, me quiero casar....As a kid I wouldn't sing that songI'd skip over marrying a woman as if nursery rhymes could out me But I would hum señorita like agreeing I find myself in my fifth grade classroom where I would hide my crush on Miley Cyrus on Mochilas and notebooks because she...I mean he could be the one was my jamYou see, as a kid i liked to play tether ball with the boys because the niñas intimidated meBut I sucked at tether ball Like now, when I try to make a move and I'm swinged right back Cause lesbiana burns my tongue like freshly made aroz con leche my mom warned would hurt my stomach ....but AMA she makes my stomach.....I find myself in middle school where I convinced myself "it was just a phase" like bad bangs and price Royce As a teen I cut all of my hair because maybe I am gayBut as the hair dresser trimmed instead of my fear falling with mechones Fear grew into shape of a pixie cutAnd I did not feel like a fairy But I could be anyone I wanted to be As a young adult I find myself Fighting queerness like canela skin. I don't want it Find myself writing Another poem of resisting assimilation But absorbing everything that surrounds me Like rice I'm white Cooking in white Is this what the meeting pot feels likeLike Aroz con leche made from Trader Joe's instead of mercados, like saying I hella like you instead of te quiero. Like no longer waking up to cumbias on Sunday mornings Cause mom, I'm afraid that my Mexicana isn't enough I'm afraid that my Spanish isn't enough I'm afraid that my gayness isn't enoughAma.Why didn't you tell me that loving would be like following a recipe of ingredients you do not recognize Why didn't you tell me that life would not be as simple as aroz con leche Why didn't you tell me that I would change it to Mexican rice pudding Why didn't you tell me I would code switch my entire existence Mom.Why didn't you teach me not to. Now, I'm almost 20,and I don't say LesbianaI don't know how to make aroz con leche