idendity

They all stare in awe. I don't belong everyone can see. My hair wrong color. My eyes too much color. My skin too white. My accent too different. They call me Yabancı because they don't know my name. I hear them whisper. People thinking they are clever. Yabancı Yabancı. Days Weeks Months. Time passes me by. Nothing changes. They don't ask my name. I don't think they care. My smile hides the hole inside of who I used to be. I am overshadowed by who I have become. Tried to fight it. Refusing to cry. I just need to keep moving. I learned, Yabancı means foreigner. It is not my name. It is my place here. It is how I belong. I am Yabancı.