Learn more about other poetry terms
There’s a family In Mexico City Loud and Proud And All So Pretty There’s the mother Coatlicue Like Mother earth
Living south and living northNo one knew the flying feather,Or watched for his ghastly shapeTho’ among he quietly slithered
Teachers draggingNo one listeningStudents textingLooking down
I was born out of two genocides. The first of European colonization the destruction of my Aztec bloodline, by my blonde hair green eyed grandfather making me Mexican, being that I was born and raised on our fertile land...