I see the evidence of my heritage
Every time I write my name.
Sanchez gives it away
As if I were saying it out loud.
But as concrete as that is
Why am I so torn?
Torn when I see images
of people here illegally,
Looking for a better life.
Torn when I speak Spanish
To my Spanish speaking parents,
Even though I have something to say too.
Torn when my son doesn’t speak Spanish
Because talking was so difficult.
Torn when my introduce my friends
Because so few are like me.
If we are supposed to look beyond the exterior
Why do I focus so much on these things?
I’ve never asked anybody upon meeting them
What is your immigration status?
Do you speak the national language?
How did you raise your child?
Why do you have the friends you do?
So why do I feel the need to defend my views
To both sides?
Because often times I feel caught in the middle
How could I not with an English first name and a Spanish last.
I’m torn between two worlds
Even though nobody has asked me to choose.
But I’m asked to question each side
When conflicts arise.
I question everything inside of me
Then I question them.
If I am happy being me
Why is it a bad thing?
I wait for the day when differences are embraced
Instead of rejected.
In a country based on hope
What an ugly thing to face.