Being Biracial
TiAUna Lewis
They sayin I bleached my skin
like all the good ones did
Parents mixed white and black blood
Mixed girl
Your incomprehensible shade of gray
The beauty in being biracial for me, is written in a completely different language
wrapped in tree bark with deep roots sprawled because they don’t know where
they’re going either.
Someone got upset with me when I said I wanted to know where in Africa my
ancestors came from.
As if not feeling like I belong is the only thing I should be concerned with
and I think about these things when people hand me twist ice cream cones out
of a drive thru window,
when I get to check more than one box on census information
best of both worlds, right?
My identity has only ever been halves separated by a wall I assumed I should be
building
for some time black and white bodies couldn’t live in the same area
let alone in the same person
my blood is two sides to an argument neither side can find reason for
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