My identity includes a color
brown, mocha, mahogany
anyone else subscribe to one of these?
Come find me so I don’t feel so alone
To leave my color is to leave my shell
My tough parts
The parts of me I understand the least
Maybe I should let them go?
I am not sure if I’m using them right
I query their social politics
Often laced with tension
equality a main topic of discussion
Perception of behavior is another
Do I fit the profile?
I try not to
Because of its inaccuracies
Mocha means that I should
not dilute the illusion set forth by…
Who actually? I don’t know.
But there are protocols set in place
A code of conduct reminiscent of blackface
A covenant of blackism
Not black enough
Trying to be a good little black girl
Trying, Trying, Trying
Failing, Failing, Failing
Js on my feet don’t make me black enough
just makes me stand out more
and the language in my mouth
falls out, sounds odd, is judged
lives in awkward absurdity
Acceptance is part of the equation but not the answer
The answer is most often convoluted
is there even really an answer?
Boundaries are for confronting
they require seductive persuasion
Instead of penetrating them
Immigrant diligence manifesting in the need to feed them.
I place the fruit of labor, production in the mouth of my borders
I hope it is pleased with the taste
Let me pass?
Are you satisfied?
I have given you all I have
Everything in my belly
It is burnt out
Ashes are left
Do you want those too?
The question lingers
I ask again
Does my identity include a color?
Is it brown, mocha, mahogany?
Does my identity include gender?
Feminine, feminist, a female pissed off?
Is it ok to experience confusion?
Not to be sure?
I will take my space
Leave my color and my gender,
Leave my boobs, my uterus, my roles, and my responsibility
Hang them on the hook
Check them at the door
I enter my space
Mama is there
She is waiting for me
She is not visible because she is energy
She hugs me
there is radiated compassion in her caress
She invites me to sit on her lap
and listen to a story
She hums with romanticism.
She kisses my check and there is spark of magic
reassuring me of place in my current space
She tells a story of a fairy that gave-up her wings to a witch
I asked her why did the fairy give up her ability to fly
She explains that flying is not better than walking
The fairy’s identity relied on others summoning her
One day she met the witch and she begged the witch to show her another life
The witch told her no because she knew the fairy would
become obsessed with this alternate life.
The fairy continued to ask the witch constantly
So the witch granted the wish
The world unfolded before the fairy’s eyes
It was her obsession her oppression
She needed to be released
The fairy made a deal with the witch and she left her wings
I asked is flying a false illusion of freedom?
Mama answered back “yes my child”
Flying can only take you so far when you are tethered
I shook my head in understanding
Things are clear now
Mama caressed me again before I left my space
She told me to remember everything that happens in this space
and take it back to the world
When I reentered reality I now encompassed an awareness
my space of otherness holds gems to be used in this world
relying on my color, my gender, my role
makes identity cloudy
Now everything I hold in my hand is an illusion
the only real thing is my connection to my other-self