i leaned my head on your shoulder while you told me
about "those lazy wetbacks" again, the ones you ran into
at the bank (with your car) and i laughed because
i didn't know how not to.

i grew up a painted-white fence. wood naturally brown
i drowned myself in bleach so my words would be pure,
burnt hair my fault. black eyes my bad
for being born, i am sorry

we are taller now but never any smarter: sure,
we act empowered but really there's a pacifier there who
just wanted a face like us to say
"you're beautiful, not burnt"
i pretend it's a lesson learnt