AmeriKKKa, I Have Died On Your Cross

A poem by Alondra S. Candelario.

Blessed be my mother

who sought shelter

from the father.

I, the fruit of her womb

an entire being

spitefully born

in an unloving land.

As if I foresaw the locust

storm

that America would be,

I went breech.

My birth an exodus

a sea of red

surgical steel

slicing my Mami’s belly

displacing organs

to extract me.

From the beginning

they should’ve known

this country wasn’t made for me.

A place where a faggot isn’t accepted

A place where my citizenship is questioned

A place where my body is a conquest

A place where I am a political act.

Like Christ,

I have died for others’ sins.

I too have risen again.

But do not mistake my rebirth

For your own salvation.