Good With My Tongue – Day 241, Never Give Up On My Dreamz

Multilingual,
Yet there’s something about American soil that strips you of everything that makes you colorful.
What started out as spanish became spanglish,
Then english I was verbally trained to use as a weapon towards freedom I’ve never had before.
“Callate la boca!”
Mom would yell at me for having any thought of my own.
It wasn’t until I understood what poetry was,
Every hint of spanish destroyed,
Where I realized I had the choice to write my own life story. It wasn’t until I had a weapon in hand helping me feel comfortable to use my bilingual tongue.
“Yo ablo lo que yo quiero!”
I’d say miles away from who kept me confined to the darkness of what was never my pais.
Free,
I was at last.
Through a poem my roots would never approve…