American or Salvadoran.
Both serve to define, but to me, they confine.
I cannot relate to one or the other,
None of them call to me like they do to others.

One country is my homeland, the other is my origin.
One is my shelter, the other is a vacation
And is always connected to me, but feels
Like a distant relative that I’ve never known.

No color but red, runs through my veins, and
No history fills me with pride.
Everything is up in the air, and
Nothing but questions and confusion are certain.

Identity has not been defined for me yet,
But culture is all around, pulling in every direction.
The time will come when the pieces of the puzzle
Finally seem like they fit.