Things I wanted to say but never did to the Gringo in the BART station

To the man who called me out of name 

in the Civic Center Bart station 

I’d like to think it’s because you’ve 

never encountered such greatness in your presence, 

that I am far more than someone like you could ever chew and digest easily 

But that’s not what you saw 

instead you only recognized me as target

and any day of the week 

I have a voice loud enough 

to swallow any train car whole 

but today

I’m scared the wrong words 

will be the reason why I don’t go home tonight 

To man in the Bart station 

You told me to go back to Mexico 

but I was born 20 blocks away

on Valencia and Ceaser Chavez 

You told me 

I don’t belong here when I hold these calles to my birth certificate 

To the man in the Bart station 

You called me a wet back 

in a train station 

in a country that’s supposed to protect my unalienable rights

turns around and calls me alien 

To the man in the Bart station

I will admit 

every time I have tried to start writing this poem

tears fill the corners of my eyes 

the words get caught in my throat 

and the things you said play back again and again 

and any day of the week

I have a voice loud enough 

to swallow any train car whole 

But when I went home 

I was un toro 

and I could only see red 

I was so mad 

I told mi madre I wanted to take self defense classes 

But I don't need a self defense class when black and brown people have been fighting for the last century 

Don’t need to throw a punch

when just existing as a brown person is a testament to my people’s ability to survive

Don’t need to have muscles 

when I carry the weight of 

18,000 plus  families being held in cages at the border

and everyday yo gracias a Dios 

I’m not one of them 

To the man in the train station 

I have a mean walk 

a chingona type of walk 

a “This puto has me fucked up” type of walk 

I come from agricultores and healers 

pastors and preachers

murals on 16th and Mission 

serape 

caléndulas en el jardín

aguas frescas 

callused fingers and guitar strings

Chicanos y Boricuas 

coffee, work, sweat 

loud-mouthed sun kissed people 

that were never weak for a single second 

and I stand before you to prove it 

I am land that they forgot to conquer 

I am Santería that was practiced in silence 

I’m herbs in the medicine bowl 

I’m every Aztec warrior 

that a colonizer couldn’t kill 

To the man who called me out of name in the civic center Bart station

If ever cross paths with you again 

I will not be as forgiving as last time 

and I hope you remember

no estoy hecho de vidrio 

I am not made of glass 

and I do not break that easily