“Estos Americanos pueden besar mi culo!” Father cursed at the middle finger America raised with her soil upon our arrival. I had expected clear skies and grand trees and was left bereft. My father, incensed. Dreams trump reality. There’s no turning back.
I ask with my smiles I ask swinging my hips I ask with hot meals and Sweet desserts I ask shyly I ask opening my legs I ask with witty Profile descriptions I ask for love But the answer Is always No Thank you to all who read this sad little poem and voted for me this week. I am … Read More