Tus patas tamalonas, your fat feet
Fat feet
That makes the ground tremble as I take a step
My feet are flat
To be closer to the earth
God wanted me to remain grounded
To grow roots before I yearned for the sky
My grandma's feet:
Callous, hard, dry
Her feet were old books filled with handwritten poems
Romantic love journals
Her callous feet had to get like that
So that thorns and nails could no longer hurt
My grandmothers' travesia was grand
Her feet were so eager to move on
That they walked on their own
Patas! Patas tamalonas!
Grandmother would tickle my feet
And I'd laugh
Grandma, why do we get feet?
Because God wants us to walk mijo
Even when your feet are flat
Fat, uneven, or they hurt you must always walk
Stand up when they try to force you to sit down
Because those feet are yours
Today I walk, following your footprints
My fat feet being embraced by the hot sand
As I follow the sound of the waves
There you are
Waiting for me at the edge...

We are the calloused hands of agriculture
The sun burned neck of labor
The bruised heel of infrastructure
We are those who go without praise or applause
Who wake up early
And go to sleep late
So that our sons and daughters have food on their plates
We are hated for our pigment
We are hated for our accent
Pigeonholed as rapists and smugglers
But really, we do the **** pendejos would never do
And we do it with pride on our sleeves
And love in our hearts
Because sometimes our families are countries apart
We take jobs that are not glamorous
And let racists hammer us
And use that hammer to sustain our families

I’ll come alive this spring. I’ll bloom if for no one other than myself. Maybe a little for you. I will shake off this dormant weather and I will warm us both under my sunlight skin. I will soak up this season and let my already tan skin deepen with history and celebration. I will wear flowers in my hair and dance to the mariachis. I will remind you that I was born in the cold but I thrive in this heat. I will come alive this spring holding the hands of my beautiful brown sisters and dance them down the city streets. With their braids down their backs and their heritage in their eyes. They will come alive.

Mi raza (my race)
Judge by a nation by my skin and roots but not by my capabilities.
Judged as a common criminal
But never as a helping hand.
Judged as a poor man for wearing the same clothes every day when I go to work.
Judged as a man that will only drop out of school and depend on welfare.
But the thing they don't know.
I was raised by a mother that had to put both pants to get by.
Become an older brother and a father to my own brothers to give them that love.
That I graduated high school in one of the best schools in the country.
That I'm going to college to become a teacher to educate and inspire that it don't matter what's your race or skin all it matters is your beliefs your dreams and your urge to succeed. I may be Brown and proud. But we're all one heart (solo un corazón) we all should love and bond not fight over who's the dominate race. Who has the bigger guns or the most beautiful woman. We are only one  (solo una raza)

The border to me
XUAN CARLOS ESPINOZA-CUELLAR·WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 21, 2015
  
The border to me is a constant anguish,
A big pause button,
Often in dreams I dream of Mexico as my lover
And he waits for me,
And waits.
The border to me is my grandma’s rosary,
She said she’d hold on until I could go back,
Until she couldn’t.
I recently found out that for years she’d scold my cousins for using my table games “he’s coming back, and he’ll ask for them…”
And she’d save t hem in her old, rusty closet.
The border to me is a big pause button,
I often dream of going back,
Who will I be then, when I hit play?
Who will I speak with to recover my grandmother’s prayers,
To collect 12 years of unclaimed hugs,
All the wrinkles and gray hairs I missed on her hair,
And every step I couldn’t walk by her.
But one day I will cross back,
In the middle of songs and candles I will conjure her spirit,
And I will look in the back of that old closet
Where she saved my table games
And there I will find her love
And her songs, her advice, her songs,
And the little pieces she left for me, hidden for me,
When she envisioned the day
That this pause would be over.

To be honest
I'm scared
I'm scared of living in a country that looks at me like the criminal.
I'm scared of a government that looks at me like I'm the reason this country is the way it is.
I'm not a drug dealer or a ******
I'm just the son of a Mexican born from a different country that was born in this great soil.
This elections has made people blind and never seeing the big picture
I've always hated politics
But what I hate the most is instead of coming as one we come as individuals not wanting to love and understand because they have different options and beliefs.
In truth I believe that some day will be united not worrying about race but making sure our neighbors have a roof on there head and food to eat
That's my dream but till this hell is extinguished
I'll be here waiting for the day