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Ripped from my cocoon, I stand in a lunch room, looking for a seat. I just want to eat. I am not expecting a mirror but I cannot see myself here. It looks like each table has a code
i am my father’s child. i am my mother’s child. i am black, and i am white. not less black, and more white.
I am of a white sun against a blue sky, and a blue star against a white expanse. My body is a legacy that spans centuries, continents, cultures, and creeds, sustained by lo mein and latkes alike.
I was white bread, sticking to the roof of his mouth:He was all bones and warm brown skinWe leaned into each other,
Thank you, Mom For the mayonnaise Plastered on me Like a filter to hide My blood Thank you, Mom For the twang
Once Upon A Time... There was a princess named Rapunzel Born of a Black father and a White mother, Rapunzel was praised for her curly hair Natural curls
"What are you?" This is the question I am asked most often when people glimpse at my curly Q curls,
When you look at me, what do you see? I would hope that it would be my personality But That is not what society has taught you, me… we. You see my #TBT, selfies and who follows me But
What am I? I am human. What are you? You must be confused, since you cannot clearly identify me. You mean that the color of my skin does not give you a clear indication?
“Other” is my race,
I don’t quite fit in,
Because I have imperfect Spanish, I am never Mexican enough to those who speak better than me Because I have imperfect English, I am always too Mexican for those who speak better than me
The burning crosses flow through my veins Alloyed with the remnants of black berets and raised fists The screens glow with the tide of imminent revolution A path marched Lives disposable
From white to black and pink to blue, my biracial skin makes me #flawless like you. From birth to adulthood, society has taught us nothing but where out differences stood,
One It is about time you realized that you are black you still don’t know what that means But one day you will And you will never have felt more beautiful or misunderstood
Mom is white. Dad is black. So what does that make me? Mixed? Right.
I writhed across the stars, one night, dreaming of the fars Where in tropical nations, conceivably, the sky turned gradations Of warm colors for the same sunrise, I see, but different bird cries probably
What It's Like To Be a Mixed Girl (for those of you who aren't) First of all, it's feeling like you fit in and then one day someone different appears in the mirror.
I look in the mirror and I see the deepest parts of my heart. You look in my eyes, but only see my outermost part. And yet, because I'm made of two, you all expect me to choose?
We are The in between The White Queens And the Africa's King The Union that no one Sees As wild as the curly Trees As high as the Yellow Leaves Or yellow skin that knows no End
The product of two worlds, joined together in love, once without identity and lacking purpose. Having hard feelings against the ones who brought me here because I felt like who I was made me less.