Dear Land of the Free

Dear Land of the Free,

Was it me you thought of when you wrote your century old laws? 

Was it my family you thought of when you tore families apart as a part of you're manifest destiny?

Was I on your mind when you tore my mother away from me at such a young age?

-so young I was fed lies as to why she wasn't with me?

Or were others on the mind when you created laws that favor people who would rather look me in the eye and tell me to "go back to my country",

than the woman with the hard curls who spit fire at a man that was taking pictures of me on a street,

than the man who was darker than the night and picked me up when I fell and wrapped my broken arm,

the father who works every day after escaping the hunger and poverty of his home country,

the mother who raised me to love everyone and prepared me for the ugly words that would come out of stranger's mouths as soon as they heard me speak in a different tounge.

 

Dear Mother, 

Thank you for teaching me to love in Spanish, 

but thank you to my friends and all the strangers along the way who taught me how to burn in English.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
Our world

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