Dear Mr. Trump

 

Dear Mr. Trump 

I know you're afraid of our rolling erre's

I know when you hear our language you tremble como un flan

I know your great wall, is to prevent our caras marrones, our brown faces from obscuring your view of a perfect America. 

I know you'd rather see us starving in the streets of Mexico than see us working jobs that could be worked by someone with a paler complexion

I know you cringe at the thought of our families starting new lives in what used to be the land of opportunity  

I know the real Bad Hombres wear suits with red ties and tear apart familias with venomous words and metal fences

No soy un Bad Hombre, Mr. Trump

Used no me conoce

 

 

 

café