When I was little,
I was told of the sueño americano
you are told to dream in a different language without an ñ.
The American dream is spread across the history books of many men
I found that the dream translated through the hands of my mother a more beautiful resting place.
A place of ease and wonder
A place of freckles and veins and bones that found new forms after years of labor.
I believe in that sueño.
I am heartbroken by the american dream I do not fit
in fact I am a misconception of words, babbled between assimilation and confusion
I hang the vowels and syllables neatly because I wanted to exceed the expectation