Census

September 7, 2014

I am incapable of self-identifying.

Everything I'd claim, you'd think I'm lying.

How can I say I am "made in America,"

when I am a product assembled with

components pried from the arthritic

fingers of Russian sweatshop laborers,

And starving farmers plowing Scottish hills.

The cotton on my head

Was plucked by the 3/5ths of a citizen

My great great grandmother had been.

Do you think she'd be proud now

That I've abandoned my heritage?

I let them take it.

Pulled on a cloak of personal confusion,

"You can't be black, look how light you is."

The ostracized want their time on the throne,

They'll fight for their throne,

Annihilate their own,

Because we're not exactly the same.

Is that not ironic?

You wanted democracy to free you,

You wanted equality.

But all you have is hypocrisy.

Cast off your chains of slavery to wrap them around me,

In my "white neighborhood."

But I would be a traitor to

Join the fight against you.

This is the no-man's land

Of the race war.

"Select all that apply,"

But neither does,

Black or white,

Because I am not full-blood.

I am "other."

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