This is what i have to believe
that this was right for me.
I take after my father's skin,
mixed with milk and honey,
trying to connect my lack of color to
my lack of responsibility to my other side.
The side of me that keeps me thinking that I am dirty.
So I sit in showers,
hoping that the steam will melt the ignorance out of me,
but I don't feel any better.
My soul is soaked with guilt of not
telling the man i love that
my blood i mixed with the cornerstone of shame.
I created stories of tans that never
faded in the winters and
how my parents were killed
and our nanny carried my custody.
But for 9 months she carried me in to being and
how I followed her wishes to a T.
She told me "Don't be me".
I never broke that promise.
I lived as though our connections never
existed but the my secret is only thing
keeping me rooted to who i can never be...
which is me.
For 24 years i have played the role of the American dream,
but the making of a marathon of nightmares.
Praying to wake up and be two sides of the same coin,
praying to be whole.