Biracial

Look at me

What do you see?

A woman surrounded by the air I breathe

Surrounded by people

Not by my own

Yet totally alone

I walk into a room

Filled with people who are darker than me

Too many eyes on me to feel free

A classmate in my history class said they are

“The only colored person in the class”

“No, you’re not,” I say, “I’m biracial.”

I’m told that I’m not

I didn’t want them to feel forgot

But how can I be what I am, but I’m not, but I am

Yet you tell me that I’m not

But I am, right?

My dad identifies as African American.

My grandfather was Penn State’s first black football coach

I take after my mother. She’s paler than pale.

I’m a walking double standard

People say you should embrace diversity

But the second you’re too diverse, it turns into perversity

I’ll shrink into my shell

Because the moment I share my heritage I feel polarized

Voices speak, “It’s a cultural appropriation, You’re just another colonizer.”

Telling me I’m not biracial. I’m not black

That I’m trying to be a minority

Like you have the authority

The authority to tell me who I am

I look caucasian

So you treat me like an invasion

My experience will always differ

Questioning what bubble to fill in on a test that requires you to specify your “race”

To explaining myself to someone. Justifying my biracialness is like pleading a case.

My ancestors were slaves

My aunts, uncles, and grandfather lived through Jim Crow

My father was alive in the 90s

I’m just 15

What do you mean?

You do not get to tell me who I am

I know WHO I AM

I am just as worthy of my heritage

Look at me

What do you see?

A woman surrounded by the air I breathe

Reviews

[Michelle Buckley]

Wow, fantastic use of language, "by the air I breathe" superb, heartfelt indeed...