Jalisco, México

As a child, you just live.

Waking up every morning to

banda and mariachi

You take pride in what you sing,

and the gritos you make

You dance in folklorico boots

that are too big for you since

they’re your mom’s

Yet, you still hit your toes and

heels as hard as you can onto the

hard floor

You steal your grandpa’s

sombrero vaquero off his head,

and use it as a prop for your dance routine

that you perform in the living room

So tired from your dance debut,

you go into the kitchen for galletas Ricanelas

It was very well deserved, of course.

Then, you get a little older.

You get made fun of how dark your body hair is.

You get made fun of your broken Spanish,

even though you were forced to speak English.

You get made fun of your voice,

because you sound like a “chola.”

You get made fun of your last name

because it’s “different.”

You get made fun of your body

because it’s not the “ideal” Latina body type.

You get made fun of how you can’t pronounce

certain words in English, since

Spanish was your first language.

Then, you grow up.

You’re compared to rapists.

You’re compared to drug dealers.

You’re compared to criminals.

You become afraid to speak your

own native language in public.

You become afraid to play any song

in Spanish with the windows rolled down.

You become afraid to take pride in

where you come from and who you are.

Yet, you see those who dehumanize you

enjoy everything from where you come from,

while you get called different slurs.

I’m done being afraid.