Quinceanera (OLD ASS POEM)

She watches all around her,
sparkeling lacy dresses.
They taunt her in her dreams
and cause tearful questions:

Why am I not light enough?
My hair not long enough?
¿por qué lastima tan malo?

Her dress is picked out,
her chambelan too.
pero no sucederá así
que estas cosas son inútiles.


Her mami is struggling
y ella no tiene un papi.
Nobody is there to stop
her quiet crying.


ella desea para su Quinceanera
for her court of fourteen,
for her elaborate hall,
and her crown like a queen's.


She wishes for her Quinceanera
para sus capias,
para el bailar y sonrisas
para su celebración
for her presentation to Selena.


All around her,
friends' Quinceaneras.
" Girl stand in mine",
" Am I gon' be in yours ?"
So she puts on a facade
and cries behind doors.


Her mother tells her,
" Viva con él, mami,
las cosas serán mejores".
" We live in the black community mami,
they don'tsee it as an honor"
" pero no parecemos mejicanos 'tho' mami"


So she puts on a facade,
and cries in her bed.
Promising to her self,
setting it in stone in her head,
that each one of her daughters will have their Quinceaneras
and their Sun dances, too.


But the pain stikes her with every
tuxedo she sees, and every Cumbia
she dances, with every picture she
looks at of her friends', and every Quinceanera
she attends.


She will never be a "Keen-ceen-yehr-rah"