Thick black curly hair, with a curvaceous body. Skin the color of caramel, eyes full of fire. Strong features, high cheekbones, thick lips looking like you're mixed.
With a butt like J.Lo.
But you're small, with the curves allright, your body has a 'rican thing to it, but your eyes looks like Asia, and your lips looks like Africa, while your hair reminds me of China.
But you're born in the West, where Mexicans are, and your accent is white, like the Valley girls.
No, tu no eres Boricua, you don't even have our accent, your just a wannabe.
Yo soy Boricua, you lost your culture, are you sure you're not mixed?
....You say your Boricua, with your voice full of pride, and stand before me denouncing my roots. How dare you look down upon me, my fellow Taino friend, for not looking the way you think I'm supposed to?
Laughter builds within my chest as I hear your Spanish that sounds broken, uttering each word as if you're reading.
Shame marches with you as you try to swing to the rhythm of salsa, while I easily twirl around you, 'round and 'round.
The music getting hot sensualizing my feet. Still you stumble trying to keep up with the beat.
Who are you to tell me? It's not in the look my island love, it's what's inside.
Yo si soy Boricua, and by the looks of it, more than what you'll ever be.