They always say to rest in peace
But I've always wondered
Why we don't live in it too

The dead are dead
And we are living
Why do we save the good stuff when we're disintegrated underground?

Ann Frank was right about flowers
But there's more

I'm sorry, mum
That you went through all that pain
To bring me into life
For me to just waste away
And wish I wasn't alive

At age 5, mamá and papa brought me over from Mexico to the new land
They called the land America
They told me that I could make my dreams come true here
At age 10, I was in school, I was given what mamá and papa did not have
I was given the chance to have an education
The chance to give me a better life
The chance to give mamá and papa a better life
At age 15, mamá worked hard to throw me a Quinceañera
A tradition where girls are no longer children, but young women
Mamá wanted me to keep in touch with my Mexican roots
She did not want me to lose sight of who I was
She wanted me to know that I was Mexican first, American second
The position of those two words mattered
The position meant everything to mamá and papa
At age 20, my life was different
I was beginning my second year of college
I had made my own friends
I was far away from home
I was working hard towards my future
At age 25, I could finally call myself successful
I performed well in my academics
I received the job that I worked hard for
I was finally my own person with my own life
Mamá and papa called, but I did not have time for them
I was busy living my life and making my dreams come true
The dreams that mamá and papa had placed upon me
At age 30, I have a family of my own now
I fell in love and got married to the love of my life
I welcomed to the world two beautiful children
One boy, one girl
Life was busier than ever, but during the holidays I visited mamá and papa
Mamá and papa were the same, nothing has changed except they got older
Oh how old they have gotten, but they still had the same hopes and dreams for me
They were proud, I have not seen mamá and papa in a while but they understood
They knew that I was busy making my dreams come true, they could not be happier
At age 35, my perfect life took a turn for the worst
Mamá was sick, she was diagnosed with cancer
I did what I could do, I sent mamá and papa money
Money was something they never had to worry about anymore
Their daughter grew up to be successful
The doctor said we were lucky to have caught it early… we?
I was not there, I was busy working, far away from home
But mamá and papa understood
They knew that I was busy working, they did not mind
They were proud their daughter was happy,
Happy making her dreams come true
At age 40, I learned about the meaning of life
Mamá was no longer with us…
She had passed away the year before
Heart cancer. I could not believe it
The woman with the biggest heart,
The heart with the most amount of love anyone could ever ask for
Gone in a flash, but where was I?
I was working, I was working because I wanted to achieve the American Dream
The American Dream that led mamá and papa over to the United States
At age 45, papa became sick to
He never showed any signs
He never let me know that he was getting weak
He was not the same young man when I was 5, he was fragile now
I could not see him though, it pained me
I was away… I was working… I was always working
I was trying to continue making my dreams come true
At age 50, I had everything that I could ever want
But everything that I wanted came at a cost

It kinda ***** to be hispanic.

Because apparently,
my ***** tastes like salsa.

and my calves are not strong as a result of exercise,
it’s because I’m hauling pounds of marijuana across the borders.

and I’m automatically dumb,

you know your people have been brainwashed when even they start to believe that they’re dumb.

that’s what I learned when the Mexican girl next to me in math class leaned over to me and said,

“You’re really smart for one of us.”

if a white woman has my skin color, it’s beautiful.

when my naturally tan skin is pictured, i’m now wearing “too much bronzer.”

I’m a fake.

I “don’t belong in this country.”

Because my ancestors looked up to this country as a place of refuge and stability, but I tend to disagree,

I gotta leave now?

Take a moment and live in my home. Live in my country. Know how my life works.

And then tell me oppression isn’t a thing.

My heart breaks every spring break
It breaks for kids like me who watch as others visit their home countries
While we cannot leave the USA
We have to sit and watch people butcher bachata
Watch how they're hips refuse to accept something other than Taylor swift
We listen when they come back with stories of how they thought our food was too different and not “Mexican” enough as if all Latin America is Mexico
We hear the laughs they make at our cousins back home for just being themselves
My heart cannot handle the privilege they wear on their sleeves when they come back
Knowing I might never see my own island
How I am thought it is ***** and dangerous
A place where girls should not be left alone
While they get the clean streets, they get to avoid the gangs
How they assault our girls
Don't tell me to just save my money and go next year
It is not that simple
We don't stay in your resorts
We live en el capital y los campos nunca los hoteles y la vida blanco
Aka the places you never set foot
You go to my island
You buy bracelets de mi bandera
You try to live my roots
But complain when I dare show pride for my people
The hypocrisy breaks my heart
It's blood pours onto my all American soil
Is my island nice?
Tell me do the trees sway as if they are dancing to Anthony Santos?
Do the branches act as the leading man guiding the leaves to swing their stems to beat?
Does the Dominican anthem ring in the hearts of the people
A pride that is new and vibrant radiating off their faces
How they have clear all their schedules to make sure you see the highlights of our land
When you eat do you feel as though each bite was made with the love of thousand of abuelas?
Can you envision the hours she spends over a hot gas stove stirring los habichuelas y arroz
Using what little food they have left over to feed you over their own blood?
Tell me does my island make you proud?
It makes my heart filled with joy
To know my people did something right that you would walk the same land as slaves
That somehow we got enough pride to make sure you had a good time that you were safe that you can have whatever you wanted
On my island
Tell me, what left is there to complain about?
Mi isla es mi corazón, mi sueño, es mi vida
Pero to you it is just another week out the calendar
My heart will break every march
Because when you come back you complain how in the Dominican Republic no one spoke to you in English
And I worry, how you think when Dominicans come here we should speak English
But when you come to our home you don't want us to speak our language
Your hypocrisy hurts
My island does all it can to make you happy
But you are never pleased
What more can we do
You take pieces of us and use them in your portrait of appropriation
You take our pride and use it as joke
My heart breaks
For the children like me
Never seeing their land
Except on Instagram in the middle of march