All them damn lies spoon fed with white sugar and red devil ham. Rolled into peanut butter and jelly tortillas packaged in rice bags. No one will notice I don’t belong here. Feathered haircut done at home and grandma took me shopping and tried to make a model of me. No one will notice that I don’t belong here.
Hiding in the kitchen while my Tias take shots and use que like it’s breath and I am sitting there on the leather swivel chair pulling the fat from my pork tamal. No one will notice that I don’t belong here.
All the beliefs, harmful burned dead forgotten thoughts forced upon a child of 10 years. “You will have an easier life later.” “You can win at the talent show,” say the sisters of Saint Josephs. Only if my father shows me. Even in my uniform and long ribboned braids, it was a damn lie. No one will notice that I don’t belong here.
I am graduating. I don’t see the family. I know they are there. Cancer survivor. No one will notice that I don’t belong here.
I am working and the imposter shows herself in the bathroom mirror as I braid my hair.
I am preparing for ceremony and there she is as I place my beads and shells on. Turquoise defend me against her mal ojo.
I am a grandmother soon. That is real. These scars of colonized misinformation are real. I fight that poser of a successful woman, an O’odham woman, a chingona and a beautiful woman every day. She’s real you know. No one will notice that I don’t belong here.