Borders

 

I hate borders.

From the invisible line that

runs down the island of

the Hispaniola's that

separates

the Dominican Republic

and Haiti

to the invisible wall that we put

up. From the line that

separates the land of

the free and Mexico

to the labels we put

on each other.

 

I hate that borders bring

separation and that we’ve

accomplished the freedom the

hangman predicted.

 

I hate that my teacher

told me not to

plagiarize but here they come

raping and

claiming. I guess they

didn’t listen to their

teacher.

 

I hate that even the

minorities are fighting

each other.

Say “ perejil”,

El Jefe

says. Difference is

control and we’re following

the

hangman’s rules

unconsciously not knowing

his philosophy.


 

I hate that

we are treated more as

disturbances and

casualties instead of

the same species.

 

I hate that

our differences makes us

weaker and that

our weakness is

our skin.

 

I hate that

my thighs are not

considered as highs

and is more

disturbing than the

kid screaming

in the class. That

I get called

distasteful and

slutty but

when a man

cat calls a woman,

he is called

a man.

 

I hate that

Showing skin a sin

and skin has been nothing but a

weakness instead of some

sort of strength.

I hate that our skin

is a border,

a restriction. I hate

that out skin

is a way we hate.

I hate that we can rape

and claim skin but

we cannot

appreciate it. I hate

that we grew up to

hate our skin

and have been struggling

to cross through those

borders.

But mostly,

I hate that the hangman’s

methods have taken

over.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My community
My country

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