My motherās accent,
Shaped by lands she left behind,
Makes you wrinkle your nose,
Yet she remains gentle and kind.
Balancing a second language,
In her eyes hope gleams,
Though her words may sound a little strange,
She hopes to fulfill the American dream.
Leaving her family behind,
She raises her own family,
In hopes they have better lives,
Without the help of a single friend.
āRacism doesnāt exist anymore,ā
Yet the word ādeportationā looms,
She hears lawmakers preach it everywhere,
And fear slowly creeps into her room
