Boricua: More Than Your Mainland Myths
I am not your West Side Story,
Not your switchblade stereotype,
Not your tropical vacation backdrop,
Not your “Island in the Sun” fantasy.
My identity runs deeper
Than your colonial textbooks,
Older than your Jones Act,
Stronger than your hurricanes,
More complex than your
“American citizen, sort of” confusion.
You see palm trees and poverty,
Missing our philosophers,
Our poets, our scientists —
Did you know we had telescopes
Before your Pilgrims landed?
That we wrote sonnets
While you built slave ships?
I am Taíno spirit,
African rhythm,
Spanish tongue,
American passport —
All of it mine,
None of it simple.
You think you know us
From your media clips:
Dancing tropical dolls,
Welfare recipients,
Baseball players,
Singing maids —
But have you seen our libraries?
Our laboratories?
Our art galleries?
Our revolution?
My Spanish isn’t broken,
It’s evolved —
Like my people,
Like my island,
Like my pride.
Spanglish is my freedom tongue,
My resistance language,
My survival speech.
We are not your reggaeton stereotype,
Not your “Latin spice,”
Not your spring break destination,
Not your tax haven.
We are engineers rebuilding
After your neglect,
Teachers preserving culture
Between English lessons,
Doctors healing in two languages,
Artists painting through hurricanes.
My food is not your “ethnic” adventure —
It’s my grandmother’s hands
Shaping pasteles at dawn,
History wrapped in banana leaves,
Resistance seasoned with sofrito,
Love served with arroz con gandules.
You see “commonwealth” —
We see colony.
You see “territory” —
We see home.
You see “dependency” —
We see strength
That survives every storm,
Natural and political.
Don’t talk to me about citizenship
When you can’t find us on a map,
When you think we need passports
To visit New York,
When you’re surprised
We don’t use pesos,
When you ask if we have internet.
I am not here for your diversity quota,
Not here to teach you salsa,
Not here to be your exotic friend.
I am here because my island
Beats in my blood,
Because my history
Demands witness,
Because my future
Refuses silence.
Listen:
Our coquís sing
In concrete jungles,
Our vejigantes dance
Through city streets,
Our mofongo fills
Corporate lunches,
Our bomba rhythms
Break through walls.
I carry Lares in my heart,
Ponce in my memories,
El Yunque in my dreams,
Vieques in my rage,
La Perla in my pride.
We are the children
Of survived hurricanes,
Of overthrown governors,
Of rebuilt homes,
Of preserved culture,
Of persistent hope.
See us:
Not as your misconception,
But as our truth.
Not as your territory,
But as our nation.
Not as your problem,
But as our power.
Boricua
Hasta la muerte —
Not because it’s trendy,
But because it’s true.
Not because you understand,
But because we endure.
Not because you allow it,
But because we claim it.
We are not your stereotype.
We are the story
Writing itself free,
Island by island,
Word by word,
Pride by pride,
Until even the sea
Knows our true names.
