Brown Girl Blues

What do I call myself?

If the world sees me differently

than I see myself?

If I’m a blancita?

Blancita, a white girl.

Am I just a white girl?

Does the spanish that escapes my mouth

tell you I’m a white girl?

Even when that language was forced onto my tongue.

Does the brown in my eyes resemble my mother’s skin?

If she’s a morena?

Morena, a brown girl.

But do you know the stories my body tell?

Does the he curve of my nose, the crease of my eye,

or the curl of my hair tell you I’m a white girl?

Can you tell the kid that called me a spic at school

that I’m a white girl?

Or the girl who told me my people were toxic

that I’m a white girl?

Can I even call this brown girl blues?

Since my native blood isn't reflected in

my skins hue?

Why don’t you tell me.

Because if I’m just a white girl,

then what freedom do my people seek.



This poem is about: 
My community
Our world


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