this hurts.

this is capitalism ripping through my memories i hold so sacred. Memories of walking through the streets of Chapala after school with my grandmother, and the smell of plants for the preparation of the big event. Memories of memories of memories

This is capitalism and white supremacy destroying, erasing and making new… something that has connected me with my elderes and ancestors,

This is whiteness telling me my body, our gente is unwanted, dehumanized and conditioned to death but at the same time extracting a part of my identity and wearing it as a mask.

This is a mask made of our dead and torn bodies… this is literally a mask made out of ripped bloody flesh. The flesh of migrants who die every year trying to cross.. the flesh of people who become criminalized and confined behind bars. The bloody flesh of torn bodies from years of exploitation in sweat shops, fruit and vegetable fields, dish washers.. domestic workers…

this is our flesh ripped out cleaned, pampered and styled to fit a white face.