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acculturation
Sombreros and tacos,
Quinceaneras and Dia de los muertos.
All they see from my Mother’s Mother.
Fortune cookies and a great wall,
Rice paddies and Lunar New years.
All they see from my Mother’s Father.
Brots and beer,
Fairytales and Oktoberfest.
All they see from my Father’s Mother.
Pointing at me deciding what I am.
Glancing at me picking a feature on my face to judge.
His eyes aren’t small enough to be Asian.
His skin is too light to be Latino.
His face is too exotic he can’t be White.
I can be who I want.
I can create art like Frida Kahlo
Surreal self-portraits booming with color, proud with Mexican heritage.
I can question the universe like Confucious
Ethical philosophy setting social values, keystoning Chinese social system.
I can make music like Johan Sebastian Bach
Symphonies grand and cherished, held as masterpieces, unique from his German culture.
I can be who I choose.
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