I’d like to start off by saying:
This poem is not for me. It’s for you, no not you Black queen, Amiga Mia, no not you persona crusando frontera de genero sexual y normas de la sociead.
I’m talking you gring@,
White man, white women who dares step into our spaces.
Mira, sit down chaval@, listen
Because this ain’t about your emotions,
About how you feel so bad after that ethnic studies class, that Chican@ studies class, that Africana studies, and use it as an excuse to talk about us like you are one of us, as if those long lectures were certificates of brownness, queerness, blackness,
This is not about you, who you know, or what you know.
Black and brown bodies pack the prisons,
School to prison pipeline,
Funneling our bodies into system of mass incarceration,
La muerte del cuerpo nos sigue, Pero nuestra memoria vive.
Qué Vivan tod@ l@s detenidos atraves del systema migratario.
Mis herman@s trans, Zoraida Reyes of Santa Ana, Mya and Brittany of Baltimore.
Because we are so much more,
Somos agua, tierra, Vida qué respira
So when you make it about your feelings, I hope you reconsider.
We hope that you begin to see what solidarity looks like:
sit down and listen to us, read our stories, read their HERstories.
Posting on social media is not enough, that will only do so much.
This is not a competitive market where you can bluff.
Put your lives, your light skin privilege, whatever form of privilege You have, on that line between us and the cops, that is what solidarity looks like.