Latina
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Necisito un boligrafo, por favor
Oh, I need a pen!
Gracias por la manzana
Oh, I meant thanks for the apple
Hablo español, y habla un poco inglés
No, I meant I speak both
Soy de Puerto Rico
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
You told me that your name was Maria,
And that you came
From the Netherlands,
But you looked more like a Latina,
With flowing dark hair, maybe a natural tan,
I was in love,
So much in love,
Am I really a monster?
I mean, I don't think I am.
So why do people always
Run?
They do not actually run.
What I mean is mirrors break,
Born in classic white suburbia,
The most American Dream of cities.
Gifted with white picket fences,
Highly rated schools,
And a Mexican population of 3.2%.
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
I was seven years old when I learned I wasn’t white
I was seven years old
And a student in Ms. Moran’s first grade class
My cheeks were pink and my nose turned up
Look at me...You will see my long, brown hair Look at me...You will see my big brown eyesLook at me... You will see my tanned, ashy skin Look at me...You will see my worn out shoes Look at me...You will see how helpless I appear, begging in the s
Pale and blue-eyed
they call me a gringa but that's not who I am.
Some say that I'm lucky
that I don't look like a stereotype,
but we are people, not Jeopardy questions
Rojo, meaning red.
It is the hue of our blood and what keeps coursing through our veins to keep us alive.
On my flag it is the color to represent the union of Europe and the Americas,
Thank you, Mom
For the mayonnaise
Plastered on me
Like a filter to hide
My blood
Thank you, Mom
For the twang
Dear society,
There is hair sown to my arms and legs
but you have given me razors for that.
Imperfections dug on my face
and none of your creams and pills work.
A tunnel in between my front teeth…
Dona Julia
Ama, I think of you everywhere I go.
I feel you in everything I am.
My dad got remarried when I was ten.
To a woman whose hugs smelled like three shots of tequila before church,
we lived in a cracked window, bug baited, squeaky apartment
My momma told to never be afraid of anything, but two things
El cucuy and sometimes her chancla.
I was raised in a ear pulling, frijole smelling, cumbia playing
I am seventeen, Latina, born in San Juan.
I went to school there then here.
I am the only Latina in my class.
I have no culture.
No, apparently this is possible:
For one to have NO culture.
Because culture is based on social
Groupings based on mutual
Ethnicity, Language, Culture, Interests, Music, Ideals...
When was the last time a young girl wasn’t dress-coded or sexualized just because it was 85 degrees outside?
When was the last time an immigrant earned enough money from one job to support their family?
Dear Mr. President
By: Princesa A. Santiago
Dear Mr. President
thanks to you this country has never been greater,
Summation of sacrifice. Resilient. Loud. Pero Calladitas. Scrappy. Intelligent. Deep feeling. Strong.
We are mijas.
We are daughters of immigrants.
That is what we are.
I am am a warrior who never stops fighting I am a proud Mexican female who is not afraid to show her roots I am courageous and piercing despite my accent
It took me 18 years18 years of living here and there in the U.S.To begin to love who I amWhere I come fromTo not be embarrassedTo love my peopleTo embrace being LatinaTo understand being ChicanaAnd in 18 yearsI have become someone 14 year old me w
Who I am
Am I my long Spanish name?
Or am I the tongues of those who cannot pronounce it?
[Can't I just call you Maria?]
Am I my full, curvaceous, petite body frame?
The place I call home -Jessica Jazmin Michaca Silva
I come from a place where families are always united
I come from a place where music is always blasting at every corner
Being Latina is not being ashamed of who you are. It's being PROUD. It's realizing you are a descendent of warriors and fighters who died for their land so that you could be free from oppression.
I’m from the coast of sun kissed skin due to 100 degree weather
I’m from the smell of freshly made pan dulce from the supermarket and tacos from crowded swapmeets
Because I have imperfect Spanish,
I am never Mexican enough to those who speak better than me
Because I have imperfect English,
I am always too Mexican for those who speak better than me
To the love in my life, mi cultura querida:
You feel like Latin soul,
Baby let that music play,
Breaking not so new news: a young Mexican boy was shot and killed by an older white male.
I'm confused
I dont know if i should love you or hate you
you never felts my mom's pain
Dont make me laugh
I mean it
I feel its rude
No, not you,
Oh I can handle you
I was taught its impolite to laugh at others
Your ignorance at my work
Your comments about smoking weed
i raise my hand
but the bitch doesnt see
i have to go to the bathroom but she says others are out
but what does that have to do with me?
i have a different bladder a different life
but what does she know?
Somehow I am strong;
They fear my total being.
My brown skin makes murmurs
In crowds where they can see me.
