My favorite words in American literature have always been:
Give us your tired, your poor
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
My family came here in 1983
looking for the American dream.
They found it in bakeries
And construction sites
and sewing torn scraps of cloth.
Stitching together a dream
They never dreamt
And only promised on a statue.
They found that dream
And their dream came true.
My family bought a house, and then two more.
Then they founded a business,
And then two more.
But my dream was different
I was born in Queens
I dreamed of a glowing orange sunset with friends from all around
I dreamed of late night movies, and improving the lives of others, not just my own.
I grew up being told stories,
Of how if you worked hard and did what was right,
Then America had a place for you in it.
But when I grew up, others told me different.
\"You’re stealing American jobs!\" they said.
\"Go back to your country!\"
\"Speak English they said\"
When I spoke to my grandmother.
I couldn’t understand,
I considered myself American
I listened to Rock music and ate burgers and fries
Every year my family held a barbecue on the fourth of July
And I had friends of all faiths and all colors and yet those people still told me
Your people don’t belong here
It was then I realized the American dream I sought
Was fragile like glass
My dreams of a glowing orange sunset
Was riddled with cracks of injustice and oppression,
One day I found that dream had been smashed.
Every family comes here looking for a dream
My family found their own
But for me, I’m still looking for my Americana