Mi Casa Está Fuera De Aquí

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Acting as if I knew one bit of how actual diaspora feels like,
I scatter my thoughts around a map of the world
And try my best to withheld at least a small fracture of how it
Truly feels to be outside of my home.

Trapped in touristy cities with luminescent lights
Whilst missing las aguas a peso,
 My grandma’s mamposteao’ and a deep rooted unity to my patria
That would never give me the necessary context to honor my place in such
A welcoming yet cold space of concrete that I was obliged to fall in love with.

And perhaps this is why loving La Isla equals to loving the division
Of self and family, only if one can truly divide their capacity to love
And entitle more than one place as that one known as hogar.
(Made for my Puerto-Rican Literature Written In the U.S class). 

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