The Act of Being Two

It was a day that should’ve been peaceful.

Peacefully, was me finishing my classes, and going  to the commons.

In common I saw my friend, Brian, and smiled at him like I always do.

Brian is hispanic and I was too.

But when he saw me with my white friends.

He knew what he would say, would not amend.

Biran showed me his WHITE teeth and asked me the question always heard,

but never adored.

“How is it like being white?”

Acting like it was not affecting.

Faking a smile, like when parents ask “Are the kids being nice?”

Questioning my self worth and my ancestry.

 

Is my skin too white like snow?

Is my accent not tinted like yours?

Is my pronunciation to words not correct.

Is it because I surround myself with these people?

These people that are named friends.

Are my friends my identity now? I want to scream!

No, gulping that thought into my dry throat.

Want I manage to say is “It is hard.”

He smiles and I stand in the darkness,

of being less.

So race is measured by the type of people you hang with

And how white your skin is.

 

Criticizing my culture,

like your so sure.

that I am white and,

only white because my skin is white,

and that might,

bite.

You see, the issue is that i’m too much of this

Or too little of this.

There is no inbetween,

when it comes to being me.

I’m too white for the Mexicans.

I’m too mexicans for the Americans.

 

There will never be in between,

you see.

They only see it as black and white.

That is their only sight.

Everyone will judge me for my choice in clothing.

Why can’t I wear what I want to wear?

And why do they care?

This is too much to bare.

You tell me to go back there,

but where does one person go?

When the only place they called home,

is now all alone.

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