immigrant

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Steam pours from thin shoulders Dimly lit, white tile reflecting moonlight Beams hit my skin Slowly, ever so gentle, Revealing to me a world both unknown and a truth that scalds 
Let me tell you a story of how my people were extracted from their villages like sap from tree trunks and walked hundreds of miles to a new home. Let me tell you a story
I am an immigrant  and in the blink of an eye, my life could be taken; in the blink of an eye, my life could be shaken into a nightmare i never expected.  As i walk the streets i’m scared of what can follow
One day, you’ll be gone and I won’t know what to do with my life after you are. The sad thing is you won’t leave earth you’ll just go really far.
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
All day my mother lives inside a language she does not Belong in, gets lost in its hard ribs and Cold vowels, its dusty noise, its angles full of
The good comes after the bad the wrong after the right  the calm after the storm the tears after a fight "Promise me you'll stay~ longer than a night" And if you can not stay
I hear you. I see you. You are love. when others say “you’re not from here”. You are love. powerful lioness, protegiendo su leonsita. You are love. gracias, Mil gracias. You are love.
Dona Julia Ama, I think of you everywhere I go. I feel you in everything I am.
I have always thought the Spanish language was beautiful Passionate, romantic, lovely Spanish Sounding as graceful as a butterfly wing  
i come from a land of blood i immigrant, i survivor Land of Liberty a ghosting drug.   better life they say, tired eyes: dead rosebuds
hello, pretty baby,  please forgive us for the mess. will you clean it if you can? we’ve been cleaning, but it’s–   today, pretty baby
Dear Edward Said,   What have you done? What have you done to me You have torn open my old wounds Those festering razor slashes Dozens, Accumulated over years, Every time I realized
America is a puzzle. The people are the pieces. Pieces that come in all shapes, sizes, and colors. Each piece is made of wood That comes from all over. Mexico, Canada, Poland, Germany, Japan, China and India.
in lieu of a new administration, america's young immigrants are facing a sort of... frustration. through broken occasion and high school graduation, by hell and high water and maturation,
America, land of the free. America, home of the brave. America, home of the immigrant.   Change is seen as scary, terrifying,
Eyes Eyes that show us the world we live in Eyes that give vivid pictures in our minds Eyes that let us see the wonder Eyes that make up our own experiences
“This country is great”I am an immigrant.My dad came as a dreamer,my mother a nervous wreck,and I, the unwilling participant.
It is true that I traveled a lifetime away after teaching my hands how to dance around two wooden poles My grandfather watched me silently as my fingers ventured inside exquisite bags of coffee beans
Does your mother strain her brain for words and correct English pronunciation patterns the same way you strain your eye muscles  at the minuscule black letters hovering from the 
As an immigrant, my voice was stifled. Spanish? Unacceptable English? Complicated   I precariously discovered Hip-Hop culture, Eminem, Biggie and Pac, you can only imagine the shock.
All I need is my culture. The blood of the Meshika flows through my veins Know that my ancestors were not the Aztecs, For that name was coined by the European imperialist
I should not be bitter I should not be green I do not even know my fate  But I see you around the globe I see you. I see your charmed life I see your opportunities I see
I am from croquettas de jamon, From guava and cheese. I am from sandy beaches heated by the bright, burning sun (Beating, glistening, warming my skin, tasting like freedom)
She traveled for days, in a maze with no direction destined for an escape from depression driven by disaffection By fate she felt a connection They ran until he was cuffed into oppression Later she had a baby on the way
The land of the free and the home of the brave.  We come here to start new lives because our old ones are close to the grave. In Pakistan, we lived with servants and riches.
As I ponder about the essence of beauty,  I take a look at my mother's hands, oh how rough they are, filled wiht hard work
My grandpa was a coal miner in 1923 living in a land eroded to dust, sweating until black paste stained his face
Hello, my name is "Chinese" "Japanese" "Dirty knees" "Look at these" "Criss cross" "Apple sauce" "Do me a favor and get lost"  
"I'm an alien with a heart and a face,  I am foreign, but where I go, I leave a trace.  They told me my dreams were too far at reach,  but back home,  that's not what they preached.
  I wouldn't open up to you if I could...
 I wouldn't give you a chance even if others say I should...
I’m told I will never belong I speak and act equally as they I’m told I should go back home Home? But this is my home Countless opportunities will be lost All lost to a nine digit number
I am a Dreamer a Dreamer who has faith a Dreamer who wants to be someone in life i don't want to stay home and slack off i want to work hard so that in the end it will all pay off i know i'm not alone
I started from the other side of the border As I got older, that's when me and my family came over A loner, stranger in a new world with new people A different language, different culture made me feel unequal
His skin looks old, brown, and wrinkled; scarred by the Mexican Sun; His wrinkles are a chronicle of his life-long Wisdom. His hands are rough to the touch; toughened by years of toil on the Fields;
In this great Melting Pot is there really room for more ingredients? Careers New Life Education They want it all Seeking far and low To become new creations Carrying stress and pressure on behind
She’s sitting sideways Hair trimmed and teased close to her scalp Her legs dangling down, barely reaching the floor And her shoelaces, undone, lay in a tangle about her feet
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