Questions

People I don't know picking apart every piece of me,

trying to dissect my racial history

"What are you?"

I answer.

"No, you're not."

So we banter.

I don't touch your hair,

So why do you touch mine?

I don't stare at you from a distance -- 

And when you do, you're wasting your time.

I am not a new specimen.

Yes, I am human,

To answer your question from before,

As if I'm not used to it.

My family photos look like a puzzle, 

Only to curious eyes.

I wish my privacy wasn't invaded

When people ask about my life.

Don't get offended

When I ask why it matters.

You can't come up with a reason,

So you mumble useless chatter.

Lastly, I have no hate.

I'm used to these questions every day.

I understand what people think

When they look at me that way.

But I know God loves me.

 He reminds me every day

When He gives me friends

That don't care about my race.