I am a child of the Americas,
a light-skinned mestiza of the Caribbean,
a child of many diaspora, born into this continent at a crossroads.
I am a U.S. Puerto Rican Jew,
a product of the ghettos of New York I have never known.
An immigrant and the daughter and granddaughter of immigrants.
I speak English with passion: it’s the tongue of my consciousness,
a flashing knife blade of crystal, my tool, my craft.
I am Caribeña, island grown. Spanish is my flesh,
Ripples from my tongue, lodges in my hips:
the language of garlic and mangoes,
the singing of poetry, the flying gestures of my hands.
I am of Latinoamerica, rooted in the history of my continent:
I speak from that body.
I am not African. Africa is in me, but I cannot return.
I am not taína. Taíno is in me, but there is no way back.
I am not European. Europe lives in me, but I have no home there.
I am new. History made me. My first language was spanglish.
I was born at the crossroads and I am whole.
I just noticed a thing and it’s making me very uncomfortable.
peter hale you vain bitch
s nearly 10 pm and i got some questions to ask
Mr.Harris is worse at drawing then me and I got a nuero diabilities all up in here
is Derek like Simba and Peter Scar cuz damn creepy uncles with kinda inpressive hair are all over the damn place
PETER HALE IS A CREEPY FRICK
when I smell sage I dont atmaticly start oraying I findthe scorce of the sage smell and then pray so I know who to pray to (if there is none burning