TELL ME, Do I bother you because I don’t see the world form the same eye - or because I wasn’t born under ‘your’ sky? Do I bother you because of the place or race that I come from -
or people that I share roots with and whom I call home?
Lurking through the confined wall of my room,
There is not a single wind of hope, Like a decaying tree,
Like a decaying tree,
Only with a window as a console,
"You know, I've never asked you
where you're from."
Without a second thought,
I say,
"I am from Brooklyn."
A pause—
I will always remember that cold night of November
when I realized that stereotypes are everywhere,
some even dressed up as fear,
What do you want from us?
an image of pretension
docile, obedient, pure
is that what you want from us?
Yeah, I'm Polish
And i'm Proud
But there is ALWAYS that one person in a certain crowd
Who would say something about me really LOUD
Between the mountains of the Andes,
The Latin American Indian
Outcome all of the tallest clouds
With the bright color of the mestizo
Between the sun rays.
These mouth are so red
they are capable of fighting
they are capable of hiding
These mouth are hilarious
they can be dangerous
My wrist can either be on or off
Maybe it’s because I broke it before
Or maybe it’s because I’m becoming older
Read MoreThese eyes that try to look all around
My neck is taller than most
It connects my head to my body
and it values as much as a Bugatti.
Read More