I’m not the type of person that can talk about butterflies
Butterflies roam.
Something I know nothing of.
I, on the other hand, had to leave home
A charity case by people who can’t admit their wrongs
Enough to do right
I remember, 6 years old when my mother said

“Garcia’s a dios nos vamos del desastre”

The land of opportunity
Was looking like a dream back then
And then we made it happen
Only for all of it to be taken away.
Today I went in circles trying to make sense of it I researched,
I watched videos,
I talked to people
and I couldn’t imagine it
Being ripped apart from home (again)
Twenty years in,
Righteous living, minding our business
Now my kids have kids
and I want to see them become greatness and
I won’t.
Instead, I’ll be forced to leave them
A sign and a chant can be our weapon,
But I still see our people being taken.
More needs to be done.
Immigration 2018
Temporary protected status ending
Is looking like #ethniccleansing.
First ship ’em dope and let ’em deal to brothers
give ’em guns, step back,
watch ’em kill each other
Is exactly what happened.
We haven’t forgotten,

El Salvador.

Crippled by a war the U.S. funded
Covered up by the earthquakes’ damage
Then they play the hero for decades.
Bragging rights to white house friends,
Shake hands to close deals while they zip on zen
Tea to make it easier to erase the memory
And a slap on the wrist
Where his Fatbit lives is not enough punishment
or an apology.
We have not made amends.
These are crimes against humanity.
El Mozote hasn’t been forgotten
911 was only 20 years after
Getting rid of lives is just another Monday
Same shit, different decade
still killing people, still funding violence
still counting dirty money
still paying the immigrant to wash your laundry.
200,000 to send away on the expiration date
We survived wars then
We’ll survive them again
And no matter how many battles we find ourselves in,
You are not going to make me want to lose my heritage,
Just because you are afraid of it,
I recognize it’s the air in my lungs,
The language on my tongue,
The blood in my veins
of pain and resilience
I am not the type of person that can speak of butterflies
Butterflies roam.
Something I know nothing of,
I, on the other hand, am still fighting to fly
Pero yo se que el motmot de cejas turquesas
Todavia vuela.


Silvana Lezama is an activist, poet and writer/editor who has been published in La Cultural Weekly, Mitú, HipLatina and others. Born in Perú, raised in San Francisco, and is now living in Los Angeles. She has contributed content to major social media activism pages that focus on spreading social awareness. Silvana plans to use her poetry and her writing to inspire an open dialogue for healing and empowerment for POC.