Skittles by C.F. Molina

Skittles

by C.F. Molina

This right here? This is the counter-revolution. Occupy nothing, fuck up what you can’t. We’re all drowning in the melting pot and no one gives a shit as they wear dashikis and sombreros and everything is shangri-la-di-da

And don’t cry over spilt milk cry over spilt heritage cry over my dead body cut down by an uncaring system in which we were forced to mate until we all became gray and unintelligible my balls broken and my spirit damned struck down before you & me & gOD hIS lips to yOUR ears

This shit right here? This is for every kid who grew up knowing nothing of their culture but fried foods and reggaeton and yankees fitteds who need to shave their damn heads to feel connected to something bigger than themselves For all the good that integration did for us we’ve done fucked up with assimilation.

And I tried to bare my soul in español but the shit just wouldn’t work I drowned in 20 years of the “good” kind of white person, telling me to be me but not in a threatening way we don’t want to scare off someone who might feel bad they’ve been chaining up a spic in the backyard of their thoughts but they didn’t mean it

But I don’t hate white people

lord knows I love my dad even though he just doesn’t get it, and neither do you and a documentary you half-watched and quartertook in about El Rey del Timbal isn’t going to cut it you weren’t there, you missed the joke

This right here? This shit right here? This is the cost of doing business because freedom isn’t free and Mad Men doesn’t speak to kids who grew up on plantains and chicharrones who dreamed of playing piano in a salsa band who don’t know why they feel so sad when they see an american flag and are too embarrassed about their Spanish to call their grandparents