Dear Mr. White Teacher

Dear Mr. White Teacher Sir,

When my hand shoots up

And my answer spurs out like Old Faithful

Does your perception of me change?

Do your eyes begin to see something different?

When my tongue smacks and slithers like an aztec vine

Do you think of me betta’?

As my Latin roots begin to shine, and my vernacular roles off the edges

smooth and crisp like the mountains of Colima

Am I not as enticing?

When you notice that the intellectual finger food of our conversations is covered in Hispanic seasoning,

Is that why you ignore my question?

Am I threatening to your classroom,

Like immigrants threaten white employment

Enlighten me, and my disregard, sir

Show me, how genetically more ignorant you are

Shine, your biggass Masters Degree placqeu in my face,

but if I may interject,

I think the way my tongue was made to Rrrrroll

is much more significant than your

Irish Drinking Problem

I know, that I’m not from here

But I, can at least trace my heritage back to before the 1800’s

You, are a jumble of every European culture that is not fucking from here

I, don’t want to be from here

You, act like its the land of milk, honey, and prosperity

But I all ive seen since i got here is soda pop, mcdonalds, and inequality

This land was made to cultivate corn, vanilla, chocolate, strawberries, and everything else that you find delicious

So when I ask you, to give it back

let my dark hands show you how to reap the wealth like mother nature taught us too

and please stop ripping it out of our hands like you were taught you could

Theres history of it:

My people, told your people how to treat the land, showed you the paths to take

Your people, called it yours

My people, forged the intellectual idea of a 0

Your people, spilled the blood of my people

Called 0 a phoenix, and revived the number from the ashes of our dead

Call me a hipster or condescending, but shit, “We knew about this place, like before it was cool so...”

Lie to me, Lie to the whole class

But I’m tired

Tired of raising my hand

And having the whole front row give me those eyes

Like i shouldn't be answering

like my hands should be in the dirt and not in the air

Like I’m too stupid or illiterate

but looky here, I can speak more than just english

<<Y digame, usted puede con migo y mi lenguaje, SENOR>>

And pardon my French, but fuck you.

P.S.  The answer to the the question you were asking was B.