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To Walk in My Shoes

Kevin Martinez

To walk in my shoes is to be from el tricolor, from Cinco de Mayo and a home that shelters five people. To walk in my shoes is to be from a neighborhood with drunks, garbage everywhere and ranchero blasting.

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To walk in my shoes is to get caught vaping that one time you do it in the park near school.

To walk in my shoes is to be from family that isn’t rich or poor, a family that can work together and celebrate successes by partying.

To walk in my shoes is to be from a family that hasn’t had the privilege to go to college, but to want to be the first one.

To walk in my shoes is to make tacos and quesadillas every weekend, baby sisters making messes while we cook.

To walk in my shoes is to not know if your father is going to come back from work, wondering if he has been picked up by ICE.

To walk in my shoes is to feel like you’re not good enough, but giving up is not an option.

To walk in my shoes is to treat music as a safe place, hyperpop smoothing out a rough day.

To walk in my shoes is to be the friend that’s always there, the son you can always count on.

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