My name

by rayvenheath

April 29, 2018

My name screams my father

2nd generation to live in the US,

Brothers and sisters born and raised in the danger of La Ceiba,

Surrounded by the drugs, rage, violence,

Their fluency of Spanish rolls of their tongue like honey,

But everyday I am questioned “Are you really Hispanic?”

My face screams my mother,

Born and raised in Boston, never once left the country

Raised in the southern lifestyle,

Enveloped in the Northern behavior,

Swallowed by the exposure of the streets

But everyday, I am accused of not being black enough because I speak differently than others

Ridiculed for not being able to follow the flow of Spanish,

Teased for not being hip to this rapper,

My true self will never be on the table,

For my plate has already been made

My name is Honduras,

My face is American,

But I am still trying to understand where I am from

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Comments (1)

rayvenheathApr 29, 2018

<p>This poem connects to me personally and anyone who deals with ethic indentity crisis. I hope this will tell my story well and help others around me</p>