I was is in second grade when Emily told me "if you where born a few years back you'd be a slave" As if I hadn't looked in the mirror latley. Oh how it felt to be the only brown girl in a white school Minority Misinterpretation. A maybe Is what I was An outcast
4th grade I visit my father and his family My grandmother and aunt whisper,"Gringa" laugh laugh "Sangrona" laugh laugh My mother hispanic and my father Mexican
6th grade My best friend is disgusted because I define as Mexican yet can't seem to speak perfect Spanish
9th grade I learned that bi racially I am a mut, As if I don't have enough labels already
I must prove to my friends I am white, yet hispanic to my family My second aunts snicker at my broken Spanish No need to gain their validity They can't believe my mother raised me away from their culture Despair fills their eyes as labels blur mine Must I prove myself every time?
What if I'm not either or? Nor a mix Nor white Nor hispanic Nor mexican Nor latina Nor bi racial Nor sangrona
I don't seek your validation but your understanding
I'm not a unique exhibit
Only a 16 year old girl dealing with teenage drama and high school studies A dreamer at heart An artist who loves to show it
I have a name I'm more than my skin color Or that of my mother's & father's.
If I'm ever asked to prove myself I will answer with only "I am already proven