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Growing up I was taught I am Mexican American... 
  Silently in the back she sits, everyday in every class, Waiting for the bell to ring like a spilling hourglass. Her name remains anonymous to all except the teacher, 
  Shed the skin of the colonizer As if it is not also mine   As if the blood coursing through me did not also  pool along the legs of Malintze   
I can’t pinpoint the exact moment when I discovered I was Mexican Of course, I always knew But snippets of realization Sprinkled into my lifetime of 16 years
"What is left?” I see you, old f(r)iend It was about time I came back again I am crawling on my knees Begging and pleading for you to love me   Please, I need you My sweetest     amor
Undocumented aliens, Racists see them as the enemies They’re trying to make a living for themselves, Not to mention for their families. Getting deported by I.C.E So hard to comprehend
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?
I will never be able to write poetry that my mother understands In English, I write a flow of flowery soliloquies about my country,       about my people,            about her
Thank you, Mom For the mayonnaise Plastered on me Like a filter to hide My blood   Thank you, Mom For the twang
Dona Julia Ama, I think of you everywhere I go. I feel you in everything I am.
  I am the dirty mexican.   The imperfect among your perfect set of tools.   Your artificial american.   The one you take away the franchise   I am the germ that cannot sanitize
Wouldn’t it be amazing if the world had equality?   If we all had choices and freedom? Now I know what some of you are going to say Going to preach Going to cry We are equal But I disagree
We are the epitome of pride and success Leaders in our fields-and in the fields   Melanin seeps in our skin Pride runs through our veins  
I am what you call a latina Just another mexican niña I am what you call a pansexual Once again another ignored label   America the Great
[SHE OPENS THE DOORS AS PER USUAL, LETTING IN ORANGE SUNLIGHT AND A SOFT BREEZE UNTAMED BY THE HEAT.  A SMALL DRYING LEAF FLIES INTO THE STEPS, LANDS IN THE FLOOR OF THE HOUSE’S ENTRANCE. SHE KICKS IT BACK OUT.]
Let me share with you a storyInvolving wolves in sheep’s clothingHidden in Google’s dark woods[1]On the lambs they keep enclosing
Don't ask who I am If you really don't want to understand who I was or how significant my blood is when it does what it does I'm not speaking up or saying this for fun
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