Criminalization

You criminalize brown bodies
for working long days in the sun.

“Foco a Foco” my mother says
no longer does she see the sun rise
or the sun set.

She leaves for work early in the morning when the porch light is still on.
The cool morning air and the dew on the roses are her good mornings

and she is greeted by the very same porch light in the evening.
hungry mouths and dirty dishes are her “welcome home”.

You criminalize my father’s broken English
make fun of his accent and his mispronounced words
and yet your favorite thing to put in your mouth is Mexican food.
No one makes fun of you for pronouncing enchiladas all bland,
so why do you gotta poke fun at my dad?

You tell brown folks “Go back to Mexico!”

assuming Latin America isn’t diverse

but God forbid I call you gringo

You criminalize my people for being
too dark,
too hispanic,
too this,
too that
Did you ever stop to wonder why you’re
too unwelcoming,
too judgmental,
too inhumane,
too… racist?

 

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Habits

My fingers type out your name without thinking twice.
It’s the third social media profile I’ve checked that’s yours.
It’s become a habit of mine
one I cannot seem to shake.
I try to get you out of my head
but my fingers type out the name
I’ve been typing out for months now.
I just wanna make sure you’re doing okay
I myself am not doing okay.
I’ve rejected every guy who has approached me,
I look for you in everyone I meet
but no one can compare to you.
I don’t allow them in
even if they can be the cure
to this deadly disease that’s eating me from the inside out.
I look for your crooked smile,
the dark, intense stare you would give me when you wanted me passionately.
But I can’t seem to find it.

It’s become a habit
to look at strangers coming my way
and hope they resemble the way you smirked
hoping they’ll walk like you, talk like you, act like you.
It’s an obsession I’d say,
but I loved you more than anyone else I’ve been with
it’s become a habit of mine,
to fill my thoughts with what ifs and maybe ifs.
It’s become a habit,
to go hurt myself by looking at your Instagram profile and seeing you with other women by your side.
You don’t seem to even remember the nights we spent together,
but I’ve made it a habit to keep them alive
I wish I could’ve kept the relationship alive,
now all I have are nasty habits to keep the memory of us
alive.