People always ask me what I think of my parent’s country.
the homeland of my parents and their parents before them
a country that has seen many of my family live and die
contains my childish laughter when I would go to visit,
broken Spanish as I got older because people forget
when they immerse themselves in their new place to fit in.
The desert that would always memorize me when I would play
machismo that I saw when my mother spoke too loud,
el dulce which made me remember the little things in life,
a time when my parent’s would speak to me in a tongue
that brought them joy and not broken English which
always sounded too rough and misplaced in their mouth.
The days when my mother and father got worried
of taking me when there were soldiers in the town
where they grew up because times change and not
everything is truly safe. When my uncles got beaten up
because they didn’t pay the fee of protection,
mistaken identities led to mistaken deaths,
I don’t remember who died for what anymore.
Mexico is a place where my heart belongs
because I was raised there as I was raised here
my tongue speaks two languages, my hands hold two lands
somehow in the bottom of myself I see two places
where I will live and die. I was made of neighbor countries,
I have rivers and deserts inside of me, marking me.
People ask me what I think of my parent’s country.
the other half of my heart.
Absolutely love this ^_^Source: changingfiction