My “Dominican side” is not showing.
It didn’t make an appearance as if my blackness was hiding it.
My American status doesn’t take away from the culture I was raised in.
Dear you, I am Dominican.
I shout in Spanish when I’m frustrated; curse words roll off my tongue when I’m angry.
I jajaja and hahaha when something’s funny.
My mind thinks in both languages and compensate words for one another because sometimes my English “isn’t very good looking”.
Dear you, my curly wigs don’t make my Dominican features stand out more because there is no such thing.
Dear you stop telling me to wear my hair a certain way because I look more Latina.
Dear you, I can sing boleros and paint the floors when I dance bachata and perico ripiao.
Dear you, my ‘spanish’ is funny to you because it’s proper and not the broken down version learned in campos that apparently is proof of your Hispanic heritage.
Dear you, please stop trying to paint me into a picture that’s one size fits all