I wrote this poem in April of 2022.

I exist between stocking and typing
I exist between boxes and documents
I exist between hip pain and carpal tunnel
I exist between grocery clerk and receptionist
I wrote this poem in January of 2020.

Sheβs an American
Iβm an immigrant
She loves Trump
Iβm a borderline socialist
She believes in money and brand names
I believe in love and poetry
Born from the same womb
But living in different worlds
Sheβs upper middle class
Iβm working class
Sheβs latina when it suits her
Iβm latina every single day
Sheβs the definition of assimilation
I get called out by HR for being too Peruvian
Sheβs the American Dream
And Iβm the immigrant
I actually started writing this poem sometime in 2017 and finished it in January 2020. A big part of my identity is being an immigrant. This poem was inspired by the hardships and struggles I’ve seen my parents and other immigrants go through. This poem was also inspired by the Trump administration and the xenophobia that was felt in my life during that time.
Here is an audio link to my family’s immigration story: https://www.mixcloud.com/rabbitbox/rb50-stranger-in-a-strange-land-immigration-stories-patricia-tacuri/

immigration leads to discrimination
of immigrants into this so called united nation
the ones with brown skin and dark eyes
justice to them is greatly denied
xenophobia is the driving sensation
their bosses sing a song called exploitation
and they hum along to it to live in this democratic nation
they leave their language and culture behind
to endure the american lie
but donβt quite fit into the gringo equation
Is their sacrifice worth so much separation
from their families, their language, and their nation?
Ah-America – the land of the free
yet none of them are truly free
living in a soulless and consumerist society


Whatβs the one luxury you canβt live without?
Privilege and Luxury
Luxury looks like the chauffeur
who drives me and my sister
to ballet classes
and my brother to karate
Privilege tastes like eating garlic cloves
in bed with my bunny
who wears a knitted hat
made by my Mami
Luxury smells like el amuerzo
of rice and over easy eggs
the maid serves us
Privilege sounds like a bomb
going off near our house
one of its residents
loses his hearing because of it
Luxury feels like my mami understanding
terrorism is at her front door
and applying for U.S sponsorship
through a relative
Privilege is having parents
who crossed the border
for us and with us
out of love and for our safety
I wrote this poem in June of 2023.

Iβm a poet, Iβm a writer but when it comes to expressing the romantic in me
I have the hardest time
Iβm great at expressing my anger, my disappointment, my shame
but when it comes to love, I shy away and put my guard up
itβs a mix of trauma and cognitive distortions Iβve held within me
since the age of 16
self limiting beliefs that no man has ever loved or respected me
and failing at all of my love stories no matter
how hard I tried to succeed, no matter how much I accommodated
or changed for my partner, he leaves me
and Iβm left flabbergasted, devastated, traumatized
so embedded and attached to my past tragedies
Iβm apprehensive and hesitant when it comes to trying on someone new.
when to comes to pursuing anything more than friendship
it leaves me in the land of βI donβt know how to fucking do this again
without it breaking meβ
and so I sit still, waiting for my crush to say something, do something
to restart my heart once again
aqui esta versiΓ³n en EspaΓ±ol:
poesΓa: loba
I’m a lone brunette wolf in a world full of blonde sheep
my exes always preferred blondes over me
I never knew exactly why
perhaps blondes really do have more fun
perhaps blondes are easier to manipulate
this used to bother me greatly,
even robbed me of my sanity and sleep
but eventually I had a great epiphany
the one meant for me will not just love how sweet I can be
Heβll also love and encourage the savage in me
he’ll know how to ride the turbulent waves of my mood swings
Iβm not sure if Iβll meet him soon or if he even exists
but after this grand epiphany
I no longer care about my exes and their blonde sheep
In fact, I wish them all the best fairytale ending
I wrote this in January of 2022.

Stuck in between Spanish and English
is a bilingual nightmare
constantly switching between languages
gives me a lifelong jaqueca
and at times I donβt get it right
itβs switching between two identities
Latina or American
it gets hard and confusing at times
but itβs who I am
Hablo con mamΓ‘ en EspaΓ±ol
I speak to my sons in English
Hablo con los pacientes en EspaΓ±ol
I speak to my coworkers in English
and to code switch parece una comedia
Iβm told that Iβm fun and loud en EspaΓ±ol
pero soy profesional y reservada in English
eventually I learn to meld
my American and Latina personalities
and I find my most authentic
bilingual and bicultural identity
I wrote this poem in January of 2023.

we won the national championship and everyone is so happy
and I feel nothing
I graduated from UGA but never felt included
so while Iβve pretended to care, I’ve always felt like an outcast
in a town who cares more about football and idiotic art
and bike lanes for woke and privilege white people
than for their poor and marginalized communities


Share five things you’re good at.
1. Taking Selfies
2. Wearing sweater dresses
3. Dancing while driving
4. Bringing joy to the office
5. Bringing big Peruvian Queen energy
everywhere I go
Itβs been 4 years since I took an oath to become an American citizen. I took an oath specifically to Trump which makes me nauseous typing BUT I also took an oath because of Trump. Before making the decision to become an American citizen, I had never really cared about politics but that was until Trump got elected. If you were a POC or immigrant or both, you felt the shift in the racial tension in the U.S right before the election but especially after the election. Racists overtly made their ignorant beliefs known that immigrants were not welcomed in this country. DACA was in the process of being repealed. DACAmented kids who should have been protected were being deported and there was a rise in deportation for undocumented immigrants as well or well the media made it seem like that. I felt that as an immigrant with LPR (legal permanent resident) status, I could possibly be next. In February of 2016, I sent my paperwork to USCIS to solidify my relationship with America. One could say that for better or worse, I finally decided to make a commitment to this country. Here is my blog post about the process:
https://rejectingstagnationafter.wordpress.com/2018/09/04/becoming-a-citizen-in-the-age-of-trump/
What has changed in the past 4 years since becoming an American and what does being American mean to me now?
Well, Iβve voted in 2 elections since I’ve become an American including the national election in 2020 (yay, no more Trump). In October of this year, I applied for my passport and have received it. Now, I can take a trip out of the country without any worries or concerns. While it is an immense privilege to be an American citizen since I now have a whole new world of opportunities opened up and I can travel anywhere; I feel that I havenβt really changed on the inside. I still see myself and identify as an immigrant but now I also call myself an American. But to be honest, my idea of being an American has changed. I used to think I needed a piece of paper to say βOh, Iβm Americanβ but for better or worse, America is and has been ingrained in me since that hot September day in 1986 when I set my foot on American soil at the age of 5.
I was an American when every morning at school I would say the Pledge of Allegiance in my broken and terrible English at the age of 6 and 7.

I was an American when I went back to Peru at age 9 to get my resident alien status solidified with my family.

I was an American when I met my childhood best friends in Hawaii at age 11.

I was an American when I had my babies at ages 17, 24, and 30.

I was American when I started working for the government at the age of 18.

I was an American when I got my college degree in 2009 from the University of Georgia .

I was an American in 2016 and early 2017 when I attended protests and marches for immigrant and womenβs rights.

And I was an American when people told me, βmy english is good for being a Mexicanβ or Iβve been discriminated against or oppressed in this country by the people that donβt want βmy kindβ here.
I used to believe that I didnβt belong here because of the racism, prejudice, and ignorance Iβve encountered but thatβs no longer the case. This year, I finally let go of those beliefs because Iβve embraced that I am America and America is me. My life may have been harder in many aspects because I wasnβt the average βAmerican bornβ citizen but I will tell you that I wouldnβt trade my experience as an American to be average. I I feel that working harder than the βaverage Americanβ for my success has made me appreciate my success so much more and for that I am thankful. My parents had no idea of the many hardships they would endure making the decision to immigrate to this country but I am glad they made that journey. Itβs taken me 35 years to get here but today I can honestly say that Iβm proud to be an American.


What’s the hardest decision you’ve ever had to make? Why?
Iβve taken off my mask and stop repressing my true self-
And while itβs terrifying at times, I show the world my authenticity
and vulnerability
I share the parts of my story that are terrible, happy, sad, lovely, crazy, beautiful, and tragic
so others donβt feel alone and find solidarity
in my chaotic and bicultural story of love, rage, defeat, hate, and resilience
And bring to light my rich and vivid experience of the duality of being a rooted and rootless,
Peruvian and American, a hateful and kind woman living her life fearlessly and shamelessly
4/24/23
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.

my final step in returning to myself was returning to my homeland
once I finally found my stable sense of identity I had desperately searched for
since I could remember-
I felt like Alice in Wonderland
my eyes wide open, my mouth opened in awe-
taking in the glorious sights and sounds
of my birthplace
the 32 years away from it didnβt matter
the ocean, the mountains, the city welcomed me back
Reminding me it had always been there for me to come back to
and the powerful and profound emotions I felt in standing on the ground
that saw my birth and early childhood
made me understand there really is no place like home
Aqui esta la version en espanol:
Poesia: Solo y Agotado
another illegal dies under suspicious circumstances and no one cares
or mourns him,
some even comment on how he should have stayed in his country-
and itβs hard to understand the inhumanity, the hateful rhetoric
Is his life worth less because of his ethnicity and immigration status?
I wrote this poem in November of 2022.

my aunt treated us like we were inferior and subhuman
constantly pointing out our flaws with subtle sarcasm
putting pressure on my mom to choose her over us
insulting my father or sister
what about us made her project her insecurities
Was it my dadβs intelligence or my sisterβs beauty?
or maybe she really hated my mom for having everything she didnβt have
a loving and doting husband
and all healthy children
What made us a target for my auntβs abuse?
I wrote this poem in August of 2022.

the facade of equality is cloaked in good intentions and lovely words-
and while laws have been passed to prevent discrimination
and to try to level the game of success,
itβs all a sham, itβs all a con
we still live in a world where the color of your skin and social status
and gender determine your prosperity