When you ask me of my relationship to this country,

What do I even say?

Do I tell you the status of my legality?

I will not let my experience be turned into a mockery

Or the stereotype of a minority

But I will tell you

Fleeing from increasing poverty,

My family landed in this so-called democracy

We took our chances and played by the lottery

So that we could live a with more equality

But in reality,

We live in a hypocrisy.

 

When you ask me what is my relationship to this country, 

Do I tell you 

What neighborhood I live in?

What is my household income

What is my level of education?

Or should I tell you about my politcal views, am I a democrat or a republican?

A conservative or a progressive?

Instead I will show you

A collection of scattered photographs throughout the years

Me with my sister Rubia,

With my abuelita Lucia,

With my next door neighbor, Dona Carlotta

We are separated

We do not walk the same grounds

Or speak the same language anymore

We are isolated

Financially capacitated

I am firmly disintegrated

From this country

I must now call home.