Latina

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  Shed the skin of the colonizer As if it is not also mine   As if the blood coursing through me did not also  pool along the legs of Malintze   
You told me that your name was Maria, And that you came From the Netherlands, But you looked more like a Latina, With flowing dark hair, maybe a natural tan,   I was in love, So much in love,
Am I really a monster?  I mean, I don't think I am. So why do people always Run?   They do not actually run. What I mean is mirrors break,
Born in classic white suburbia,   The most American Dream of cities.   Gifted with white picket fences,   Highly rated schools,   And a Mexican population of 3.2%.    
I can’t pinpoint the exact moment when I discovered I was Mexican Of course, I always knew But snippets of realization Sprinkled into my lifetime of 16 years
I was seven years old when I learned I wasn’t white I was seven years old And a student in Ms. Moran’s first grade class My cheeks were pink and my nose turned up
Look at me...You will see my long, brown hair Look at me...You will see my big brown eyesLook at me... You will see my tanned, ashy skin Look at me...You will see my worn out shoes  Look at me...You will see how helpless I appear, begging in the s
Pale and blue-eyed they call me a gringa but that's not who I am. Some say that I'm lucky that I don't look like a stereotype, but we are people, not Jeopardy questions
Rojo, meaning red. It is the hue of our blood and what keeps coursing through our veins to keep us alive. On my flag it is the color to represent the union of Europe and the Americas,
Thank you, Mom For the mayonnaise Plastered on me Like a filter to hide My blood   Thank you, Mom For the twang
Culture and Religion should be kept separate. 
Dear society, There is hair sown to my arms and legs but you have given me razors for that. Imperfections dug on my face and none of your creams and pills work. A tunnel in between my front teeth…
Dona Julia Ama, I think of you everywhere I go. I feel you in everything I am.
My dad got remarried when I was ten. To a woman whose hugs smelled like three shots of tequila before church, we lived in a cracked window, bug baited, squeaky apartment
    My momma told to never be afraid of anything, but two things El cucuy and sometimes her chancla. I was raised in a ear pulling, frijole smelling, cumbia playing
I am seventeen, Latina, born in San Juan. I went to school there then here. I am the only Latina in my class.
I have no culture. No, apparently this is possible: For one to have NO culture. Because culture is based on social Groupings based on mutual Ethnicity, Language, Culture, Interests, Music, Ideals...
When was the last time a young girl wasn’t dress-coded or sexualized just because it was 85 degrees outside? When was the last time an immigrant earned enough money from one job to support their family?
Dear Mr. President By: Princesa A. Santiago   Dear Mr. President thanks to you this country has never been greater,
  Summation of sacrifice. Resilient. Loud. Pero Calladitas. Scrappy. Intelligent. Deep feeling. Strong.   We are mijas.   We are daughters of immigrants.   That is what we are.
I am am a warrior who never stops fighting I am a proud Mexican female who is not afraid to show her roots I am courageous and piercing despite my accent
It took me 18 years18 years of living here and there in the U.S.To begin to love who I amWhere I come fromTo not be embarrassedTo love my peopleTo embrace being LatinaTo understand being ChicanaAnd in 18 yearsI have become someone 14 year old me w
Who I am Am I my long Spanish name? Or am I the tongues of those who cannot pronounce it? [Can't I just call you Maria?] Am I my full, curvaceous, petite body frame?
The place I call home -Jessica Jazmin Michaca Silva I come from a place where families are always united I come from a place where music is always blasting at every corner
Being Latina is not being ashamed of who you are. It's being PROUD. It's realizing you are a descendent of warriors and fighters who died for their land so that you could be free from oppression.
I’m from the coast of sun kissed skin due to 100 degree weather I’m from the smell of freshly made pan dulce from the supermarket and tacos from crowded swapmeets
Yo soy Irma
Because I have imperfect Spanish, I am never Mexican enough to those who speak better than me Because I have imperfect English, I am always too Mexican for those who speak better than me
Racism is what we make of it. It is not a problem. We make it a problem. 
Once upon a time I displayed a middle finger with a peace sign
To the love in my life, mi cultura querida: You feel like Latin soul, Baby let that music play,
LVL
Fuck it man, do it.  
Breaking not so new news:  a young Mexican boy was shot and killed by an older white male.
I'm confused I dont know if i should love you or hate you you never felts my mom's pain
A memory was triggered today.
Dont make me laugh I mean it I feel its rude No, not you,  Oh I can handle you   I was taught its impolite to laugh at others Your ignorance at my work Your comments about smoking weed
i raise my hand  but the bitch doesnt see i have to go to the bathroom but she says others are out but what does that have to do with me? i have a different bladder a different life but what does she know?
  Somehow I am strong; They fear my total being. My brown skin makes murmurs In crowds where they can see me.  
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