I Am

I am Mixed Race, Half Caste, Half Breed and Colored.
Any way you look at it
His blood mixed with her blood
Mixed with their blood
To make our blood.
And now all that blood runs through my children’s
Tiny beautiful veins.

We are the New bloods.
African Bloods.
We were colonized and reorganized
yet we still walk barefoot
through thick, red soil.

I’ve got biracial hair
Mixed race eyes.
Hips, lips, thighs
you can’t want to jump into? But can’t admit to?

I’m about to switch that up.

You want to categorize me
Make me feel more “comfortable” with my own kind.
But tell me
Where are you going to find
A part Ugandan, Part British, Part Indian
Not to mention a hint of you to name a few.

Not black enough to be a wife.
Not white enough to be a sugar mummy.
Not Asian enough to be acceptable in your circles.

But this poem is not a bid for your acceptance.
This poem is not an attempt to rally those ‘like’ me
under one victimized umbrella of our parents’ consequences.

This poem is simply a testament of my truth, my reality.
All those tears for all those years over my individuality?
Not yet able to see the beauty in my uniquity.

But I don’t want your sympathy.

I just want you to hang up those preconceptions
your forefathers fed you
in your booklet at birth.

Because my skin color is not a representation
of my aims, my goals.
My skin color is not a representation of my soul.

All my parents ever did.
Was try. Something. New.
Make love to each other
fall into each other
and celebrate the product
of their beautiful connection with the world.

So whether I’m a freak, a geek, a rebel without a cause
I’m free

So tell me
You want to try be with me?


Link to the Italian translation

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