To #45,

Before you,

I didn't know what it felt like to wake up and fear that today could be the day you would take my family away from me.

I didn't know you were incapable of recognizing the difference between the raised fists seeking justice and the tiki torches radiating hate.

I'm sorry you don't know what sacrifice means, what it means to be humble, what it means to be a hard worker, what it means to struggle.

Come to think of it, Webster's Dictionary can tell you what all of those words mean but you will never be able to feel them.

Those words will never be used to describe you.

I’m sorry your family believes you should pull yourself up by your bootstraps and that's why you only got “a small loan of a million dollars.”

I'm sorry you don't know what it's like to grow up in a culture that is family oriented.

I hope you know that your words hurt us.

I hope you know it brings us together,

the pain reminds us to use our voice.

I hope you see you can’t keep us down, you cannot silence us.

I want you to know that although there are people who cannot speak against your hateful words and rude remarks, there are hundreds of thousands of people who can.

I hope you know we are all resilient.

We are “the roses that grew from concrete”.

We are seeds and the further you try to bury us,

the deeper our roots are and the stronger we become.

There are generations and generations of us and we are all here to stay.

We are here to protect ourselves and our brothers and sisters.

We stand with Black Lives Matter, with women, with Dreamers, with human beings.

I hope you know this is a battle you will not win,

we are strong and will not stop fighting.

But we do not fight like you do,

we do not use destruction and do not spew hate.

We do it with love, the strongest force out there.

I hope you’re ready.

With love,

A chicana who will not be silenced