Society glorifies my diversity
because my accent tastes
like apple pie on the Fourth of July.
But this same society tells my mother
that her accent is too funny so,
“Excuse me, but can I get a cashier
I can actually understand?”
So, yes, I may have forgotten to tell you that
I don’t have a right to vote
in the country I call home
Because even though my card is green,
my last name tells you I hopped the border
from a country I’ve never even been to.
This poem is about:
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: