What is my name?

To every person who has ever experienced what I've gone through.

In a world
where nothing is mine;
I am reminded
every morning's day,
and at the end of every night,
that I am unwanted
and no one wants me in their sight.

I am tossed and turned as a label
more than my own worth--
I am "second place,
at best"
and "second place,
at worst."

If there were no words
to describe it,
I don't think that I could bear--
the endless suffocation of truth
that the world has once declared.

I am American, yes.
But when no one treats you as one,
it's harder to say
I am Brazilian,
when they don't even count me as one.

Is it that,
I am more Brazilian than Indian
that erases my centuries of history?
Or is it that I am worthless
without my own title of dignity.

I don't care that I am
American,
or Brazilian,
or Indian of some sorts.
If I can't be treated as a human,
then I'll be nothing more than my looks.

I am more than just a race,
or ethnicity,
or nationality.
I am here meant to display
the truths in actuality:


My words aren't "worthless,"
"disgraced,"
or "unrighteous,"
because I am American enough
to call myself such a name
that only brings undocumented
violence.