What is my Own?

Should I be ashamed to have two countries ingrained deep into my bones?

With dark brown hair and tanned skin proclaiming my heritage

The way my eyes are shaped and my eyebrows lay on thick

This, only part of my inheritance. 

But yet,

I’m fluent in a language that was originally not my own

Well versed in a culture that I have grown up in

And I constantly play the part, 

or perhaps I don’t because there is nothing to hide 

except for my very own skin, that I refuse to depart

We have Tacos for lunch and Burgers for dinner

The spiced smell of Arroz wakes you up in the early mornings 

With sweet contraption of canela on Winter nights

Two languages muddled in my mouth like the mixing pot that is America’s very being 

Hola and Hello are always exchanged

Different words of the same meaning

Spanish and English constantly interchanged

Although I am not caucasian

I only speak my families language on occasion

Sometimes I don’t remember which part im playing is to have a mask

With my friends, I am way more ‘lax

The people in the country, I live in says my culture is a poison

Nonetheless, I still say the pledge unashamed with no annoyance 

I cannot fully be one or the other

Without dropping the counterpart of my childhood

I can’t roll my R’s so why do I even bother?

Because in multilingual tones

I still have two countries ingrained deep into my bones

My roots, and my branches.