applaud the fourth-generation toddlers

worship them, why don’t we

finance their racist grandfather’s legacy

let’s count the generations

color has missed.

 

colored like my father

crossing borders saying

“do not enter,

brown sugar does not dissolve well in reactive baking soda,”

with a

6th grade education, no science fair ribbon,

nothing in his pockets but a 

dream 

of “home?”

colored like the check-box

asking if

i am hispanic

yes,

i think so

but where is the box for

“angry” and “identity crisis?”

colored like

the rainbow flag behind

my smiling love and i

home is where i can’t bring

my girlfriend.

 

generations of me

missing out on football games, concerts

summer bonfire nights

staying up until 3am

finishing college

scholarship 

merit

applications. 

all to do something that 

not a soul 

in my bloodline

has done before.

 

i did it. i’m here.

thriving academically i finally feel passion

when i learn

but freefalling in

every other direction.

suffocating in shared space

never alone never alone

but always lonely?

 

isolation amongst onlookers? 

 

first-generation baby

still learning how to walk in

a world

that doesn’t want to, can’t want to, nourish my growth

unsteady crawling 

across borders and over walls

to find “home?”

where maybe someday

i can bring my girlfriend.