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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Baile con migo, hips made from the rhythm of merengés and cumbias, samba, swagger and a pinch of azucar mixed into my backbone. My first language was Spanish. Learned from sweet stories told by my papi at bedtime. My tongue a formation of the stardust of my heritage, An intertwined galaxy of rolled r’s and the pledge of allegiance. It was something I would soon forget after I was told it was wrong Taught a new way to introduce myself “mi nombre es” turned to “my name is” after the girl in my class told me she couldn’t understand me. So I was taught to reject the language of my family and to be proud to call myself American over Mexican. Now my Spanish 2 native class seems so god damn foriegn and I can't seem to remember what comes after domingo on my pop quiz. I would learn to hate my name, much preferring something like Tiffany, Leaving behind my silent TL and X that sounds like an S because they said it was strange. When I visit my grandmother all I could do is nod or shake my head, Because her native language sounds like a tongue twister I can't seem to master. So she reminds me that the colors in my soul and the rhythm in my bones are blessings and that I come from the Incas, the Mayans, the Aztecs, los Mexicas, who built an empire nunca imaginado. That we are a children of an oscuro pasado, A mixture of pain, sadness and oppression, But we inherited the strength. We have inherited the passion. She reminds me that my name holds the power of the most legendary Aztec princesses who ruled with the grace of the most beautiful flower. So this is for the women that still name their children in nahuatl and the men who wake up on Sunday mornings to listen to Vicente Fernandez with their fathers, And families that still pass on recipes of arroz con pollo. Because we are the sons and the daughters, And we hold the stories, The journeys of the remembered, Those who walked through deserts, waded through rivers. We wear their legacies on our shoulders with pride, And we do not lose ourselves to broken perceptions, But rise above with the help of our powerful stories. Our melodies, our galaxies, Por que somos Latino-Americanos And we will not be forgotten
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