#latinasrule

It happens all the time— Everywhere I go, whether a familiar or unfamiliar place

I always hear the same question about the status of my race

As if everything that I am is encoded in my skin

As if this is a story that I even know how to begin

Because you see, I am black, Latina, and white at the same time

Yet I can’t claim any of those categories as completely mine

What’s up, y'all… my name is Carol. And I am Black

But I’m light enough to blend into an “Other” or “Exotic” mask

I’m Black because I have that kinky, that curly, that “girlllll, you got that good hair!”

I’m Black because I have to carry my Black Girl Magic with care

I’m Black because I’ve inherited that soul, the rhythm, that creative expression of my ancestors’ pain

I’m Black, but, tainted by European conquistadors, their legacy still in reign

So I live in this land where I’m Black but never quite Black enough

I’m Black, I say, but they always say it’s a bluff

 Hola… me llamo Caro. Y soy Latina

But I’m dark enough to blend into American culture without raising suspicions on the status of my visa

I’m Latina because I have that black, that curly, that “mami, you should straighten that hair!”

I’m Latina because I have to carry my spicy attitude with hesitant flair

I’m Latina because I was born in a Latin country, and I feel the rhythm and music pulsing through my veins

I’m Latina because hablo el español e inglés, all the same

I’m Latina, but watered down by a mostly American upbringing

So I’m too Black, too White, and not Latina enough, those words forever stinging

 Hello… my name is Caroline. And I am White

And I sound White enough to get away with it when not in sight

I’m White because I allow your public musings of, “omg, can I touch your hair!”

I’m White because my light complexion doesn’t cause you a scare

I’m White because I’ve been blessed with the enlightening gifts of a well traveled life

I’m White because my English diction perfectly captures the left side of your mind

I’m White, but not by my ancestors’ choice, and never recognizable

Because I’m too Black, and too Latina, leaving the question of my race an endless battle

 So when you ask me where I am from, and what am I

It’s hard for me to give an answer that’s not a lie

Because I act like a White girl, but I don’t look like one

And I look like a Black girl, but I don’t act like one

And I am Latina, but not like everyone

So who and what am I, you ask? Well, I am, simply, just Caroline.