We are puppets to

Your systems.                 Our only qualification

        Is to be the number that

Satisfies your                  minority quota defenseless

Without                           our heartless haven

     You shoot us              in the streets

Not because of                our words or ideals

But by a                           variation of color

Forgetting         

             that the pavement

    Is stained by the same dark hue

  As we hold our

Fathers,   mothers

Sons,        daughters

Sisters     and brothers

In our       arms at the hour

  Of their death. We

Cling to Our Lady’s

Cloak. Asking not for

Her to crush your head

But for your conversion.

We petition her for another

Guadalupe, Mother

Unite us like you

Did before. Show

them how a mixed-race

Can be Miraculous.