Beautiful brown girl, your skin glistens under the sun. Your silky hair is as dark as coal, eyes brown reflecting the ones of your ancestors before you.
Beautiful Black girl, don’t think I forgot about you. Made in central America, you’ve been told you aren’t Latina enough. Do not listen for you reflect the beauty of your country.
In every shade we come, our people stand in brown, black, and pale colors as well. We come in every combination you could ask for, dark or light hair, dark or light eyes, curly, straight, or wavy. That is what makes us unique.
They shove maracas in our face, and ask, “How come you don’t celebrate Cinco De Mayo?”, “So do you guys all wear sombreros and eat tacos all day?” 19 countries and we’re all different -stop stereotyping
This country that used to be my own, tells me I don’t belong. “Go back to where you came from,” they’ll yell. I find it ironic since they love my food and use my culture as a theme for birthdays and parties. -my culture isn’t yours to take
The iron steel keeps them captured; their little hands grasp the cage. With lonesome eyes, they beg “Where are my parents?” With no response, she turns back to her siblings. The oldest of three, she reassures them they’ll be okay. But she can’t help but shed tears when her two-year-old brother asks for his mom.
Kneeling on the floor, she weeps, scared and tired of the words thrown at her. I extend my hand towards her and let her know she isn’t alone. Open the curtains and let the brightness swallow you whole, regain your strength, and take back control. The oldest of three, she's only six having to raise her siblings. Sent back, her parents sit in Colombia, where they pray their kids are okay.