Color de carne, skin color, colored hands, hands colored with pieces of the Atlantic’s warm stomach /spinal cord of pueblos indigenas / pacific thunder and drastic rain, you tell me, tú me dices, I can’t paint the billboards of my skylines with my words (mís palabras) because I am brown and “brown” means backwardness, atrazao’, Old World, smelling like machetes and an uncivilized big wide mouth? My skin will tell you everything you need to know, I will keep writing because brown means I can write in the corners of my people’s minds, I can speak/write/scream/be myself/be unique and still be my type of civilización, and I can be diferente , something, my darling, you lack.            

           —“Minority”