Biracial in the Seventh Grade

Ripped from my cocoon,

I stand in a lunch room,

looking for a seat.

I just want to eat.


I am not expecting a mirror

but I cannot see myself here.

It looks like each table has a code

and I am thinking I should not have showed.


I see a table where only black girls sit,

each seat getting filled bit by bit.

Nearby I see what looks like the white girls' table.

Without me the theme remains stable.


No one wants me to sit with them,

there is nowhere I could blend in.

I go home and ask my mom, "why?"

I want to cry. 


I learn that I am not whole

and I feel out of control.

I am in pieces,

how have I never seen this? 


Identity is everything,

and not having one stings.

It is not always black and white,

but with me, those two are right. 




This poem is about: 


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741