I am my immigrants Parent’s daughter I am their hopes and dreams they once wished to achieve, molded as if I were clay to achieve what they couldn’tI am the days of working themselves to the bone until their bodies achedI am the tears and sweat that beaded down their face as they planted roots in a new nation with only the protection of La Virgencita’s mantilla over them. I am my older sister’s day of playing “Mami” while my own mother worked 12 hour daysI am my own tears I shed being afraid I would never amount to anything, and that my family’s hard work was for nothingI am my parent’s youngest daughter; I am keeper of their trauma, my own, and the trauma passed down generations I am their blood, sweat, and tears I am their way to a better futureI am the embodiment of their flaws and perfections I am their stubbornness and kindness I am everything they worked forI am the bloodied hands from a hard day’s laborI am my parent’s daughter and I am proud that I am