Chicana like them

Growing up I was taught I am Mexican American... 

A brown girl with American pride but Mexican roots  

Growing up in South San Jose with all the white kids. 

I didn’t speak Spanish so I didn’t think I was like them... 

The kids that only spoke Spanish.  

But what I failed to see beyond our differences in language 

Were our similarities 

No matter how middle class I was 

No matter how American I was 

To the racist I would always be just another border jumper.  

To the racist I would always be one of them. 

I stopped trying to be like my white friends 

And learned to embrace what made me different 

My wide feet, my dark skin... 

My dark hair and my wide grin... 

These things made me just like them. 

I began to embrace my identifiers 

The features that made me stand out 

And I learned to stand proud. 

Proud of my features, proud of my culture, 

Proud of my heritage, proud of my familia... 

My grandparents who were brought here as children of la Revolucion! 

Had it not been for them, I might be just like them. 

My ancestors didn’t come here so we could be statistics... 

Just another bunch of blue-collar Chicanos  

They did not come here so we could be ungrateful of their struggle. 

I carry their message in my heart 

And their courage in my blood. 

I am them. And some day their children will be me. 

We are the same cultura. 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My community

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