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

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 

Leading Aztlan

Crazy right?

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?

Maybe.

But if I ever get my hands on a machete….