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sinidentidades:

“To live in the Borderlands means you”

    are niether hispana india negra española
    ni gabacha, eres mestiza, mulata, half-breed
    caught in the crossfire between camps
    while carrying all five races on your back
    not knowing which side to turn to, run from;  

To live in the Borderlands means knowing
    that the india in you, betrayed for 500 years,
    is no longer speaking to you,
    that mexicanas call you rajetas,
    that denying the Anglo inside you
    is as bad as having denied the Indian or Black;  

Cuando vives en la Frontera
    people walk through you, the wind steals your voice,
    you’re burra, buey, scapegoat,
    forerunner of a new race,
    half and half—both woman and man, neither—
    a new gender;  

To live in the Borderlands means to
    put chile in the borscht,
    eat whole wheat tortillas,
    speak Tex-Mex with a Brooklyn accent;
    be stopped by la migra at the border checkpoints;

Living in the Borderlands means you fight hard to
    resist the gold elixir beckoning from the bottle,
    the pull of the gun barrel,
    the rope crushing the hollow of your throat;

In the Borderlands
    you are the battleground
    where enemies are kin to each other;
    you are at home, a stranger,
    the border disputes have been settled
    the volley of shots have shattered the truce
    you are wounded, lost in action
    dead, fighting back;

To live in the Borderlands means
    the mill with razor white teeth wants to shred off
    your olive-red skin, crush out the kernel, your heart
    pound you pinch you roll you out
    smelling like white bread but dead;

To survive the Borderlands
    you must live sin fronteras
    be a crossroads.  

          — Gloria Evangelina Anzaldúa