Victoria García


Victoria García:  Though I don’t know my story yet, I know I am meant to create one. I am currently eighteen years old. I was born on February 26, 1999 in Houston, Texas. Although the highest grade I earned in any English class I have taken was a high B average, writing has become one of my more favored hobbies. Ever since the second grade, when my class was assigned to write poems to present in front of everyone, I became interested in writing. From poems to mindless drabbles, the older I became the more I wrote. To me, writing is a way to expand and connect; you can create different worlds or just reveal your own. It was not until just recently I realized what I wanted to do for a living. I will be attending university soon in hopes of graduating with a major in English and a Professional Writing concentration. I wish to be an author or even an editor. I also hope to someday connect and inspire people with my writing.  

Mr. President

Mr. President, may I speak?

Can you give me that decency?

‘Cause I’ve seen how you’ve treated my people

I’ve heard what you think about people like me

You say you want America great again

I can’t think of a time in the books it was

‘Cause I’m one quarter Native American

And three Hispanic

So this land was mine before Columbus thought to sail it

Yet there you stand behind a podium

Saying “send them back, the rapists and the terrorists”

But you seem to forget white is the original illegal immigrant

And you say we’re pretty great

But this country was built on genocide and slavery

You say we’re moving forward

If that’s so why does it feel we’re back in time

Before Civil Rights

Before Dr. King

And before “Muslim Ban” could even be a serious thing

You’re single handily supporting racism

Even though I’m sure if we walked in

A person of color is hired to clean your expensive estates

And you’d be paying much below minimum wage

You say they’re stealing jobs

But guess who is hiring them

This country isn’t by the people, for the people

It’s by the wealthy, for the white

And I’m tired of seeing people like I

Called names and shoved into fights

I’m tired of seeing people of different religion

Told “no, you can’t come in”

Because their god isn’t that of the favored “majority”

That why we’re known only as “minorities”

But we’re people

Breathing, living, and desperately trying

to get our voices over the white noise


Mr. President, please sit down, quit squirming in your seat

I know it’s hard for you to hear from a woman like me

Especially when I say you’re ruining my country

The one my ancestors lived on

Raised families on


Let me back track, you’re not ruining it

Not completely

You’re revealing and igniting it

Racism has always been there like serpents

on darkened streets

But we avoided it by closing windows and saying prayers

Now they’re out of their cages

Causing more chaos than the people you seem to fear

And you forgive them

Only cause they’re just like you


Mr. President, my people belong here

Just as much as you think you do

© The Acentos Review 2017