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Celia Rose Jan 2016
I love being Chicana because it gives me a sense of belonging.
I hate being Chicana because I am not a true Latina, nor am I a true American.
I love being Chicana because of the authentic food my family brings to the table.
I hate being Chicana because people assume that all I eat are burritos.
I love being Chicana because I was born with the ability to move my hips and dance in a way most white girls can’t.
I hate being Chicana because I look white and not Mexican.
I love being Chicana because it gives me a reason to embrace a beautiful language.
I hate being Chicana because people automatically think I can speak English and Spanish perfectly.
I love being Chicana because I have the most caring family.
I hate being Chicana because I was raised in a lower-middle class household.
I love being Chicana because I was raised to learn and appreciate the value of everything.
I hate being Chicana because I am expected to bear children and marry a hard-working man.
I love being Chicana because it sets me apart.
I hate being Chicana because I am expected to know American history as well as Mexican history.
I love being Chicana because I was born in a free country.
I hate being Chicana because I feel out of place when I travel to Mexico.
I love being Chicana because I have created goals for myself that no one ever expects me to me reach simply because I am Chicana.
I hate being Chicana because people don’t believe in me or my abilities.
I love being Chicana because I have the strength and willpower to prove them wrong.
Old poem but it's one of my favorite ones I've ever written
She was lost in East L.A.
She was told she could be found
That she’d feel something profound
Once she walked over the streets
Once she would smell, touch and hear
Once she read the signs
Admired the murals
And entered each Laundromat.
Fa Be O Aug 2013
There is

the bitter taste of the last cigarette

on the roof of my mouth,

a sourness on my tongue

and i try to remember the last time i felt like this.

or rather…

the last time I DIDN’T.

seems like as time goes on, every day becomes a struggle,

and some days more than others.

I want everyone to be my friend,

but i wonder where this inferiority complex comes from?

it paralyzes me and i do not want to speak.

meeting people, seeing my ideas put into words

by other lips and others’ gestures,

and yes I agree,

but ******* you make me so tired.

no, i do not need your hugs,

and no i do not need your validation.

and hell no i do not need your apathetic agreement

because like hell you would understand,

like hell you would know that

you can’t bleach this brown skin of

all the slurs and all the stigma,

that you can’t flat iron out the

ethnic tangles of my afro-something hair,

that you can’t even guess,

cause even i don’t know,

even we don’t know,

if i’m black or native or forcibly half white,

if i’m 10% this or 50% that,

like I have to be broken down

into numbers and percentages

cause I just can’t be whole again,

cause we just can’t be whole again.



They took everything,

they came and took everything

*******,

and yes God ****** us,

your ****** God ****** us,

you came and you traded

our generosity, our good faith, our sustenance,

you took all of that

and gave us biblical ******* about a God,

some overbearing, vengeful Lord

that didn’t even love you,

oh God, and we were the savages?

You came and you stripped us naked,

took off layer after layer of dignity and prosperity,

we gave you firm hugs of solidarity,

and you groped our ******* like they were worthless,

we gave you kisses of peace,

and you rammed your tongues down our throats,

demanding we choked into silence,

and we were supposed to thank you.

You came and you ***** our land,

our mothers, sisters, and daughters

and we were supposed to be compliant.

we were supposed to be quiet,

and we were supposed to be content,

happy to fill our wombs

with children who would later struggle

with the realization that the reason the color of their skin

was neither yours nor mine,

that it was neither milky white nor toasted earth,

was because my people had been ****** by yours,

figuratively, literally but most significantly, forcibly

generation after generation,

subjugation after subjugation

for 400 ******* years.



And here I am.

400 years later and I don’t know who I am.

They say I could be Chicana,

or Mexicana,

I could be Mexico Americana,

I could be Latina,

or even, god-forbid,

Hispana.

I could be but what does that even mean?

what does Mexican mean?

a land where the majority of the people

descend from the great people of indigenous America,

or the great people of Africana roots,

or these chaotically beautiful blends

that result in the sweetest of dark coffee- soft caramel of spectrums,

still say “indio" like an insult,

still say “*****" like an insult,

still say “prieto" like an insult.

still say, “baby girl, get out the sun,

what you tryin to get darker for?"

still say, “hell no we ain’t african!"

like that would be a bad thing.



and ******* it i am ******* tired.
Turco Dimas Jun 2013
You, saying love
You, shaman's road
You, a bird
You, a yellow sun
You, Emperor
You, lovely door
You, my Walt Whitman
You, Neal
You, Sal Paradise
You, Pancho Villa
You, La Revolución Mexicana
You, navajo
You, the border
You, the river
You, chicana
You, Mafia
You, redemption
You, poetry
You, Salvador Dalí
You, Picasso
You, stereo
You, love
You, ***
You, youth
You, America
You, América
You, español
You, english
You, country side
You, cat
You, fire
You, books
You, E. E. Cummings
You, Bukowski
You, Octavio Paz
You, Coca-Cola
You, Coke
You, India
You, Mississippi
You, jazz
You, Miles
You, Davis
You, water
You, rain
You, lagoon
You, chest
You, car
You, road
You, reading
You, lines
You, Paris
You, Baudelaire
You, Poe
You, japanese
You, katana
You, Mishima
You, gun
You, rifle
You, cam
You, can
You, can't
You, Durango
You, Arizona
You, desert
You, gonzo
You, mezcal
You, alcohol
You, drive
You, crush
You, alive
You, again
annette Jan 2018
i am my grandmother’s small and plump tears
when she thinks of her pueblo.
i am my mother’s broken english
as she greets the cashier.
i am my sister’s abandoned dreams,
her acceptance letter is etched into my palm.
i am my brother’s path to citizenship
along with all the photographic evidence.
i am my brother in law’s laughter
when he speaks to the nephew he has never met.
i am the ever constant fear
of being denied a home.
i am the secrets carried on backs
through miles and miles of desert.
i am the pan dulce on sunday mornings.
i am the mole and carnitas at birthday parties.
i am the thick hair on arms.
i am the first bite of a burger king hamburger
after years of poverty.
i am the first item of clothing bought at a kmart
after years of patching up old clothes.

so how dare you think less of me?
you do not know what i carry.
all this pain.
all this joy.
all this strength.

i am chicana.
the bridge between two worlds.
i will not be burned down.
un producto de una familia mexicana que vino a un país lejano por un futuro.
Jasmine Dec 2017
These low income kids need more motivation
My teachers don’t know the problems we are facing
I am not a rich privledged girl
I am a chicana, raised in the ghetto type of girl

Let me take you inside of my world
Just next to my house is where the gangsters meet
If you say something wrong
They’re quick to leave you dead in the street
Graffiti and gang signs is all you see on the walls
If you take a walk and hear shots
You wouldn’t want to be in deep

Cops can stop you just because they can
People like us, do you really think they give a ****?
My brother is always getting stopped by a white man
They tell him “Put your hands over your head”
Any sudden movement and he is for sure dead

In the night the guns are pulled
Gang enemies coming over
Looking for problems up to no good
The street rules are in place like it would
Gun shots and sirens are playing in the background of my hood

Poverty makes times even more rough
I didn’t get new kicks for Christmas
I guess it’s just my luck
I have faith in God that I will get out of being stuck
I have decided I have had enough...
I'm a stand on top, while I'm at the bottom of the rock, my dock,
Of the bay, yo what they say, what they say, I'm a spit it like Otis,
Driving in a Lotus, yosef dont loose focus, magic ****, hocus pocus,
Who could out loc us, I'm Frank Lucas blaze my soul to the buddha,
Getting mad Goudda, that's cheese so just relax and breath,
So you can recieve, the deadly intrigue, empresses I breed,
Check the sights of my seeds, even could be felt in the afterlife needs,
My babies, it's so crazy, I'm off the head like JFK or MLK,
Wait excuse me for that say, mercy mercy mercy, Lord just dont curse me,
I know the hearses around me, sharks leeching for me,
But ain't blood to see, in the seas, I lay more rhymes than the trees,
To leaves, on the branches, sticking to my membrane, so insane,
Go against the grain, black Caesar, bruise a chick, cuz I'm a pleaser,
Ghost as Ebenezer, after im done, then I'm a leave her, leave her,
Make her a believer, its G O D status legendary, take sin to my cemetery,
It's all gravy, this for my lady, chicana loca baby let's cha cha,
Standin like the Godfather, haters kiss my rings, while I make a sting,
Selling y'all careers, while my money soak up ya tears, no fear,
I'm living by, how when I'm the pie, fools chasing crumbs only left to die,
Grimy source, mixtape corpse, but watch me bring back a life source,
Of course, I'm chilling in Belize low breeze, wife beater and my khakis,
No longer chasing keys, I got the master key, to unleash all of misery,
Company, cops cant even touch me, I'm free like Cosby, tried to rob me,
Causing I called dibs on NBC, black man crucified for the industry,
Shady me, I'm just another bear, stingy with the honey, word to the Commies,
Groucho Marx personality, so why yall cats tryna battle me,
I'll leave ya thoughts on E, that's empty that means bullets shooting freely,
Deliver like Mr McFeely, in ya neighborhood and there I stood,
Holding my black wood, cigarillo I hold so thoro, haters still gotta borrow,
Just to make it glow, yo I spit it from the soul, dig the divine vessels,
Yall taking steroids, but still got no muscle, trust I could out touch,
Any ******* on the beat, I could **** a beat, and not get charged,
On a repeat, thats double jeopardy bombarded ya legacy,
I'm a mic barbarian, following the gusto of wind, theres war up again, again,
time for me to position,
Catch Kyle listening, tell me when to snipe within, my range it's so strange,
How muthafuckas use ya name, but barely know ya name,
I could light a flame, of a frame without proper aim, danger man,
Mystical with the principle, I draw thoughts from the spiritual, homicidal,
Cant escape the visual, cover the issue, break bread from here to Brussells,
Fools I slide like Byron Russell,  watch for the MJ when I take the game away,
Its blood on the horn, watch for the thorn, circling in the eye of storm,
I walk straight, amongst the rap turbulence true artist, signed independent,
See the distance, got em breaking see em shaking, got em baking,
Ya bodies oven, 380 degrees which means, you caught the germs, of the deaths sneeze, please believe,
I'm climb to top like Clark, Expedition see these haters whispering,
Mumbling cuz they know I be crumbling, iron micz, blow like dynamite,
Beirut up on ya sight, it's like that, so be ready to fight for a might,
I battled shogun, with hoochie nuns, drink crown, and chew bubblegum,
I'm on a different drum, follow the voices that hum, slain a kingdom,
See the outcome, theres too many laying in the battlefield, best fights I've held, without raising my shield,
Yeah and that's real, 48 laws of original power, minds I devour,
A lion airing out these cowards, I draw more critics Stern like Howard,


P

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