Being Biracial

being biracial

regardless of the location

or destination

appropriation is my probation

forever being stuck in the in-between

one side mad because i ain’t “clean”

the other side don’t want me cause my skin is fair

like it's my fault they can’t see the melanin that’s there

i was born into this world a mistake

a potion not completely mixed

1 part too much,

1 part not enough

my hair the texture of my ancestors

a grandmother's hands who were gentle

even when the shackles that held her back weren’t

the oils and creams that mixed to make to help make our magic

that sprouts from roots grow,

are foreign land to me

my kinks are uncombable

i am a mix between the slave and the master

my black side looks at me in shame and horror

as if I will draw a whip from my belt

my white side clutches their purse of morals

as I show up to the family functions

praying I don’t steal it

being biracial

means I can’t be too black or too white

it means the group of people I

hang with

define whether I’m preppy or ghetto

as if a person can define what race I am

as if the shame received from my creators ain’t enough

refusing to appreciate me for my concoction of a body

as if they didn’t lay down and make the decision

to mix their cultures into one

causing a chaos of a lifestyle to come

my mother who doesn’t understand that my hair doesn’t flow

like hers

my body has curves

that hers cannot bend to

that buried in these roots are years of lost culture

my father

doesn’t understand

that my skin will never

match his or my siblings

no matter what I do