Middle

I've been forced to stand this ground
I didn't chose it
in some ways I don't think I could choose
graffiti on the wall
drawn over words
layered over cuneiform
hieroglyphs and oral stories
I can't see an original thought
just sounds
turning to pictures
morphing into written words
all saying the same thing
from varying depths

I didn't choose this awkward stance
it was handed to me
trying to live in this world
is like dancing off beat to ill-timed music
I have no other choice
I want to dance

nappy hair
not nappy enough
skin that plays tricks and changes
not dark enough to feel proud of deep roots
never light enough to bring an ease to faces like its own
not enough black consciousness
too much white mindedness
and beaten up on both sides
I simmer in an anger I didn't make
and I try to ease it
by telling those who step on my toes
it's okay

they think I'm one of the safe ones
because I smile and speak
the easy way they reach to touch me
or stand too close in line
or the way they keep driving
when I have the right away when crossing the street
they don't know I seethe and watch how they ignore me


The others think I'm lost
because I listen to "that" music
or like "that" guy
or watch "that" movie
how can you ground yourself in quicksand
all the while they are trying to buy their way in
copycats of a culture that holds them by the neck
and they have the nerve to tell me
straighten that, wear this, get that, roll this
but they don't make it
or sell it
am I really the hypocrite here


I am playing a dangerous game of double dutch
the ropes are strung with mean words
I'm like too dark make-up
on too light a face
at my inability to match and blend in anyone's culture
I have impeccable rhythm
but can't seem to jump in without being hit
hit with words that expose my homelessness
I can't seem to find the middle
trying to jump in time with acceptance of myself
in a society with folded arms