Beg Me For Forgiveness and Watch As I Spit in Your Face

By Nayeli Lopez

I am not the one responsible for the gaping hole in my chest. I did not give you the roadmap to my soul for you to crash your car into. I am not the one who handed you the whip that formed welts on my back. I did not give you the luxury of knowing me for you to use it against me.

You are the hell I know well.

Remnants of all you did come back to me in flashes.

You mutated my haven into a battlefield.

Even amidst the light of day, I fear the darkness will always find its way back to me.

But

You beg forgiveness like I cried out for mercy.

You yearn for absolution like I crave the miracle of forgetting you. You live with this guilt while I suffer with this regret.

You are the hell I know well. You want me to forgive you?

Don’t make me laugh. I gave you all my heartache. I will not give you my happiness too.

Christopher Columbus Syndrome 2020

By Danielle Ramirez

“What is this person’s race?”

“White, Black, Asian, or American Indian?” Sighing, I scrolled past the long list.

“White - German, Irish, English.”

“Black - African American, Jamaican, Haitian.” Swoosh, swoosh. I scrolled down and down.

“Other: _________” I typed, ‘Afro-Latino.’

I clicked on the next page.

The next question emerged as a magic trick That always fails to impress me over the years. “Is this person of Latino or Hispanic Descent?”

Already, there are over 60 million of us. We’re the largest minority group, now. Why are we still on the second page of the race census page?

Hovering my cursor over to Twitter,

“The Latino community is an incredibly diverse community,” “With incredibly different attitudes about different things,” Oh right, of course.

“Goya Foods is doing GREAT.”

“The Radical Left smear machine backfired, people are buying like crazy!”

Now, we’re rediscovered. You guys have swords, ships, and syphilis.

All we had was nothing.

Surely, our Santa Maria did not whisper to them, Clinging her rosary, “Amores,” “Escuchalos a Latinos, por favor.”

No, it’s their Uncle Sam, whispering to them, In a low booming voice, “Gentlemen,” “Let’s not deport their votes, yet.”

After this, Will we still be on that second page of the census?