The Struggles of Being Mixed

Sat, 12/28/2013 - 20:08 -- Stanson


I am a mixture. A swirl. A combination.

A blend. A concoction of two different nations.

I am two parts color and two parts white.

One half day. One half night.

Two separate parts of two separate wholes

Emerge together to create my soul.

My soul; my origins; the very essence of who I am. And you dare deem it not good enough?

Not up to standards?

Got me going crazy in my head like there are little dancers

Prancing and stomping on the surface of my brain;

On my heart;

Driving me insane;

Pulling me a part;

Filling me with the idea that I need to cater to either half and can’t just be myself.

I am done looking in the mirror and feeling inferior because I do not look the part.

Throwing your poisonous words at me like a dart

As if there is a target on my chest.

You're lookin’ down on me. Cuz the lack of brown in me.

Making me feel like I am less.

With myself I always want to alter,

Thinking that I am at fault for,

Not being able to fully identify as one or the other.

I am exhausted of feeling the excessive need to prove my worthiness to either of my halves

I am done with overcompensating for what I lack;

Because at times I feel myself slowly hating the skin on my own back

Wrapped around my body feeling more like a cage of rage rather than a piece of who I am.

But no, No. I am stronger than this.

I will not let you take away my feeling of bliss

Of being comfortable with who I am.

I think it’s about time to knock out this dam.

To let the different shades of blues of my river be released.

No longer tied back by this restrictive leash.

I am just trying to love my culture to the best that I can

It’s hard to do since I grew up in these borderlands.

A land central to two different sides of a divide

My hand on either side and as the two pull a part, I am split

Between the unacceptance from my left and my right, I’m sick of this shit.

Please tell me this: How can you look down upon me if you were never above me?  

With your hesitance to love me.

Simply based on my difference of appearance

See right there, there lacks coherence.

But I will not let you make me feel ashamed of my own skin, but I’m just asking you to see,

Although I am two halves of one; I am whole; and this, well, this is me.


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