Am I just a broken Puerto Rican?
You know like my broken Spanish,
And my broken English,
Im broke and Puerto Rican,
Some broken pockets &
broken tongue painting
a broken picture
That kind of broken Puerto Rican?
Why is it so damn hard to be Puerto Rican?
They say I can see it in your hair,
I just knew it was your curls, so exotic,
how did you get it that way?
But where’s your accent? Invisible.
Can you roll your r’s some more?
yea I can tell by your hips, that swish and swoosh
to those hollow congas singing salsa, now that’s it.
They forget the taino in the creases of our smile.
Bomba drums that sing to us of Africa.
The pain in our palms from the many years
of massacring sugar canes with our loud machetes
for a yanqui wallet.
The aching petroglyphs Columbus
scraped into the walls of our wombs.
& I am just a broken Brooklyn girl
like my family & a couple mirrors, shattered
breaking myself into tiny poems,
to write away scars from those nights
I yearned to feel a coqui’s song
seep into my window
& tuck me in each night.
About the author;
Urantia Ramirez born June 29, 1993, was raised in Brooklyn, New York. She started writing at an early age, however, rediscovered her love for poetry in her high school years where she attended El Puente Academy for Peace and Justice. After graduating high school she attended Hampshire College in Amherst, MA where she pursued poetry, African American and Latin@ Studies. After graduating Hampshire in May of 2015, she moved back to Brooklyn, with hopes of getting her first book published and continuing school. She currently works in Safeguard Self storage as an Assistant Manager in Brooklyn.