Immigrant

Immigration… I can barely begin to talk about it   Immigration is a hot topic in the news these daysTrump says kick the foreigner outKeep the American paidBut the foreigners paved the wayYou see without my people There wouldn’t be what is todayBut it’s not today that made todayIt’s the days of before yesterdayThe days of slavesAnd unjust waysWhen white supremacy Killed my nation but paid the wayFor me to come hereLose my rootsMy heritageMy name…   My “I”   I, who is more ethnic than the curl in her hair,I, who is more cultured than the clothes that he wears,I, who can speak in tongues that are now rare,I, who can see the world in a lens of ten different men,And, still, not judge nor compare, I, “who choses to talk like this”Because “talking like this is too hard for others to bare”I, who rejects my identity at school and work to fit in,It’s become a routine of despairWhen at home I have no choice but to careIt’s a double lifeto put it fairAnd it’s something I really don’t want to share‘Cause see now I’m broken ...More broken than a broken whores’ prayer   And then there's mamaMama was a soldier through it allShe fought and she foughtNo one ever saw her bawlWe only heard her cry at night through the wallsBegging God to take her life‘cause she’s had enough of the fallThree kids on her arm, Lost her man and her homeAnd she didn’t even get a call24 years later and she still suffers it allHer life is a dragging raceBut I’m not talking Rupaul    And to keep from breaking her façade of strengthShe worked three jobs as a janitor illegally for “rent”She got paid under the table, feeling like a cheap wenchThen went back to her kids and played pretendCause the White Man let’s you inWithout getting “bent”But then you’re bent to a certain extentAn extent you can’t handle So you become like cementEither you’re a solid masterpiece Or a shapeless mass with dents   And the roads my mother paved for her babies Go walked without faith‘Cause I don’t walk with prideI walk with shameQuestioning God if he’s a live And if he is, why is it this way?Because my past is something I don’t want, nor claimBut I can’t escapeIt’s etched in my nameAnd runs so deep through the blood in my veinsAnd when I go back home, it’s kind of like fameI’m “the girl who lived” Only it’s not the sameMy life isn’t a novelIt’s an unfinished gameA game the white man seems to love to play   Sadness, anger, bitterness, rage…wrathSolitude now seems better Than the days in the pastCause every day that I look in the mirrorI see what I’ve lacked    My “I”    Now “I” blend into this society“I” enjoy privilege and commodity They say what’s wrong with that?Nothing, “I’m” just the child my mom didn’t want me to beThe child she fought to raise alone in this misery I’m the child my ancestors didn’t suffer for, to see    And when I go back homeI’m not the one they want to seeI’m the white washed girlLiving the “American Dream”The American “wannabe”Living life lavishlyDriving cars of luxuryForgetting my rootsMy heritageAll that my nation has done to breed humans NOT LIKE ME    My “I”    And here it’s no differentI’m the arrogantThe negligentThe ignorantThe “Europeans think they know it all” I refuse to take the belittlement I’m not the one who started battlesWhich others’ ancestors did,Pint-sized Colonized Agonized DestroyedThen despisedWhite man just paints it diff-e-rent    OH! And suddenly you love my food and my clothes and my waysAnd after all that I’ve been throughYou come to me and say“Come to this country and you will be safe”But “when I take the job you’re not willing to take”You tell me “go back where you came from” the very next day“You come to my shop I give you pretty nail, I wax your hair”But trust and believe the language I speak isn’t meant to thicken the air'Ling-Ling' and me speak of home and despairOf sending money to the families you mock without care.It’s gruesome how in my country you’re a tourist But I step in yours and I’m a terrorist.You smoke our hookah Eat our breads and hummus“But not all of us own 7/11 and work for customer services”    But who really cares about those nations that cannot existsThose nations fossilized by angry white supremacist fistsI hear them say ‘let it go’…It’s not worth itThey’re just outnumbered IrrelevantUseless…Immigrants 

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

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741