Porcelain-Mexican

How am I supposed to look like?

Tan skin, long brown hair, brown eyes that sparkle when it meets the sun?

Am I supposed to smell like homemade tortillas fresh off the comal?

Am I supposed to know every single song sung by Vicente Fernandez?

 

“Oh, you’re Mexican? I thought you were white” they would say.

“How does it feel like to be white-passing?”

“At least you don’t go through the struggles we do...”

 

You would think a “person of color” would literally be of color.

Who knew? Who knew that being the color of a porcelain doll would exclude you

out of so many things?

Getting ugly stares?

Nobody from your ethnicity willing to talk to you because they think you are the enemy.

 

But then yet,

I’m too pale for the Hispanics,

Too native for the “Land of the Free”

I have to work hard for my people to like me,

And work harder to be accepted in this American society.

 

So please tell me,

How am I supposed to look like?

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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