Who Am I?
Who am I in America?
Brown heart – White skin makes it hard to blend well in almost any circle
Too white for most Chicanos
White people just call me militant
Because I don’t think it’s too much to ask that you press one for English in parts of the United States that were stolen from MY people
I claim them even if they don’t return the favor
Porque mi familia son de Mexico
Mi sangre es de Mexico
And when my people are called illegals –No matter where they were born
When they are called illegals – As if they are subhuman
When they are called illegals – The word dripping off of racist tongues like hydrofluoric acid melting away the self respect of a proud people –
When I hear that word my heart breaks
My heart breaks and heals again but each and every time the healing comes slower than the urge to lead a violent revolt
The daydream is comical
An overweight white kid with glasses and a machete
I’m no soldier
But I’ve got a pen and I’ve got a voice
And I’ve got a middle finger for every JanBrewerSherrifJoeGOPRacistEuropeanWhoWereLivingInCavesWhenMyAncestorsWereCreatingCivilizations
I’ve got a FUCK YOU for every asshole who ever looked down on a Chicano trying to provide a better life for their family
The next time you tell one of us to go home you remember who was here first
But then again, who am I?
A white kid with a brown heart who doesn’t blend in well?
But if I ever get my hands on a machete….