I’m too black to be a Dominican Writer.
My soul doesn’t just sing bachatas, it also sings the blues – no autotune.
I’m too inspired by Langston Hughes and the shadows of Harlem, but I’ve also lain in bed with el massacre se pasa a pie and Salome Ureña.
And somehow, the American overshadows the passion – isn’t that usually in fashion?
A fusion of culture and sazon, Mr. Softee and trips to El Malecon.
I’m too black to be a Dominican Writer.
My hips move in tandem to the perico ripiaos in el campo, but my feet tap to the rhythms of Bronx rap.
Can’t I love Johnny Ventura and Biggie?
Can’t I be both black and Morena in the same rhyme?
Can’t I just exist in this time?
A time where things should be different,
Where Dominican Writers have more melanin than the sun rays can burn. Where I can be prieta and not just at home?
Am I too black to be a Dominican Writer?
Am I too much to swallow for the people who speak the language I first loved in?
Who gave me dulce amores before I knew what it meant?
My heart pounds en timbeque, my blood boils over oil drenched chicharron.
I am a Dominican Writer, black as black can be all the way down to my toes.
A Poem a Day 