Red, White, Blue, Yellow
They want me to be white, America.
My grammar must be exquisite.
I need to speak in full sentences.
I should wear a suit and a tie.
But when I dress and speak
The way you would have me
I am told:
“Stop acting like something you’re not.
Be black instead.”
They want me to be black, America.
A loose flow of words
And Phrases
Barely
Connected
Through a couple of rhyming verbs.
Things you heard
A million times before
But you know the score
So don’t be sore
When I bust these rhymes down like a door
“What was that? No more?”
Hey!
Is this your way
To say
“Stop tryin’ to be black.
That’s not what you are
You’re better off actin’ white!”
I’m not white, America.
But I am Puerto Rican!
Mi abuela?
She wants me to be Hispanic, America
To speak Span-Ish
To dance the bachata
To listen to some salsa
To make some arroz con pollo
To say me jamo
Excuse me, me llamo
Que tu dices?
“No, no, no, papi. Tu no comprendes es-pan-ol.
Be…” something else?
So what’s my choice, America?
Black, White, Hispanic, Jamaican, British, Russian, Irish?
How about a human being, America?
A being that speaks in full sentences,
Although, from time-to-time my grammar will slip
And dip
Into a rhyming pattern.
One who can say hola
And yo.
And hello.
To be who I am,
Not what you want, America.
(2011)
#ExpectationsIdentitySociety