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A Privileged Mexican

The prompt was
"Write about your neighborhood in Chicago"
I thought, surely I will win
No one else of my background
Can portray it with such heartbreaking honesty and truth
I wrote about the struggles
The tragic state of the houses
The sad, touching histories of the neighbors
The hopeless futures of those small, dark children
The sorrowful ballads sung in foreign dialects
And I showed it to my mom,
Expecting her to cover her mouth and break into tears
But all she said was-

"You're not from the inner city"

And I looked at my home
With a red door and a northern magnolia
A bright new tricycle lying in a thick bed of green grass
And I thought
No, but I have been made to believe that I was




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