My mom cried to me this
Mourning the loss of the culture within herself.
She longs for the day she finally steps foot on
Tierra mojada again. Inhaling the smell of
The street market stands selling antojitos.
Feeling the joy of the mariachi band, por que
Hearing the children echando porras as they
Bidi Bidi Bom Bom all over the plaza.
Tasting, savoring every bit of her culture as it falls off
She seasons me with it, but I become more and
More bland as I
Replace spanish with
check off ¨white¨ on the little box
Molding myself into the ones
That make my mom fear living in
She can't go back.
Shes stuck on tierra seca
Until I make it out.
I cried to her that morning.
Mourning the loss of the culture within myself,
Culture that never started.
But in the meantime, como la flor,
I will bloom
To make YOU proud.
To make YOU happy.
To let YOU know that you're not suffering for
I will make it out.