Poems about Immigration

Your tears fall so hopelessly from your face,  You wrap your arms around me in desperation, 
CORNEA. it is the Fourth of July and I am sixteen years old.
America. America. Is an harmony with a sweet melody
I, too, sing America since I was brought here at the age of six. My only home is the land of the free.
My fight does not stem from the desire to overpower My fight stems from my roots embedded in the rich earth of my motherland
Power was not what I gained Rather what I used Knowledge was what I used And also gained
I express my identity through poetry. Who I am and who I hope to one day be
Elegant words Magnificent stories Gracing the pages of yellowing paper
Elegant words Magnificent stories Gracing the pages of yellowing paper
Elegant words Magnificent stories Gracing the pages of yellowing paper

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