I am not
you. I know better.
The melting pot
that so hurriedly
was rushed outside the kitchen
to become its own cuisine
does not sustain me.
In fact, never feeds me.
My preference serves
Crème Brulee in Tokyo,
Sake in Copenhagen,
Black angus in Mumbai.
Sopa Azteca – in Manhattan – during holiday.
I am not
you. I mock expectation.
The hue of my skin
beds the red haired
Extracts “Je t’aime” from
Parisian modests and prudes
Elsewhere, feared; no one’s hand to frame my symmetry.
I will never
be you.
Broken language from
a motley identity
suffocates itself.
I prefer to breathe;
In many languages.   
Oscar "Oz" Mireles was born and raised in the border city of Brownsville, Texas to a family rich in traditional Mexican culture and heritage. His inclination towards poetry and literature stems from his mother's efforts in teaching him to read prior to attending grade school. His first poem was written at the age of eight and has not stopped since.

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