by Jordan Lidstrom
Everyone hates to be judged,
From your looks to your dress,
I don’t do things to please others,
I’m not looking to impress.
But now I’ve become resentful
Of people and their “compliments,”
Because I’m congratulated for my beauty,
Not all the hard work I’ve spent.
No one cares how much I know
Or the big dreams in my mind,
They just care about my face and body
My boobs, hips, or behind.
Me dicen “Eres muy hermosa,
Cómo eres tan bella?
Ey, mira la gringa
Yo me caso con ella.”
I’ve grown to hate these kind of words,
Bonita, linda, it’s all the same,
Now I despise them in English, too,
Because these words replace my name.
I know that I am beautiful,
but it’s not just for my looks,
It’s because I’m smart and talented,
And all the chances I took,
I’ve grown to be ashamed
Of this face that is mine,
As I await these little comments,
And shivers down my spine.
I hate piropos
For the disdain they gave me
For being born exactly the way that God made me.