Open letter: Dear Mixed Girl
Photo by EKATERINA BOLOVTSOVA
Dear Mixed Girl,
This journey you’re on is not for the faint of heart.
It’s one you never asked to start, and you have to be smart, ʼcause there is no way to depart —
Your home is no man’s land,
You have no choice but to withstand, all the attacks unplanned,
Only you can take a stand.
Shunned and maligned for your differences defined
Opportunistic enlistment to each side of the battline
You hear the drinking song, that prolongs,
Tomorrow’s wrongs, of not getting along.
Solitude is not a choice, but reality.
They dispense the cavalry, unconcerned with mortality,
It’s a tragedy that you’re a casualty, in the anarchy of immorality.
Your home is no man’s land, you preserve and withstand the attacks unplanned
You stand apart,
You are far from faint of heart.
Dear Mixed Girl,
Photo by Mizuno K
Squeeze those hips in like a sardine
If you don’t look like a figurine,
You will fall in between, never to be seen.
Straighten the curls, avoid the sun
Even when that’s done you can’t outrun a lawman’s gun.
Switching swatches to mix and blend
You’re now Hollywood’s latest trend
But as you ascend, you lose your friends
We don’t mean to condescend, but did you just pretend?
Chocolate, cinnamon and caramel — are condiments now compliments?
How do you expect us to be confident?
We demand amendment.
Because we’re exotic, you see us as erotic
Now that’s a bit neurotic, even psychotic,
But let’s stay on topic.
We try to evade the drama but, we’re not someone you can take home to Mamma
Hold on I need to breathe, so here’s a comma,
Too much, too little, not enough ... whatever
We’re fractured and splintered, trying not to sever,
We’re not trying to be clever, but being mixed is an endeavor.
Do we bleach or dye our skin?
Either way, we just can’t win —
Does beauty really come from within?
Photo by Ron Lach
Dear Mixed Girl,
Someone once measured my worth on a chart,
Sliced me up into parts.
I don’t know where to start, how to explain my broken heart.
Part this and that, never enough,
At best a diamond in the rough, always called on your bluff —
I was never good at math, but understood fractions.
The sum of the parts falling short with subtraction
Of differences that detract and distract from the attraction.
Who’s that reflection in the mirror?
I’m trying to see clearer,
But I feel like a mathematical error.
One half, one quarter, one eighth,
I’m losing my faith.
Two quarters, yet not a half,
What’s wrong with this graph?
Two halves, yet not a whole,
I’m losing all sense of control —
I have stage fright, but am obliged to act
It’s the only way to avoid attack.
I got lost in others melodies, trying to find the similarities
And hopefully some remedies, to fix my abnormalities
They tell me it’s just jealousy,
But I feel like a felony threatening a legacy with my identity.
A featured guest appears as me
Hiding my full ancestry.
My skin used as a marketing tactic, only invited to better your optic,
Yet my “lightness” is anticlimactic.
Is my thinking really that quixotic, or is your thinking just myopic?
This argument is just plain idiotic and nothing short of toxic.
I disagree with your decree that I’m just a wannabe
I’ve mastered the art of pretending
And I’m sorry if I’m offending, but I’m done defending.
How would you feel,
If you had to conceal,
Truths you can’t reveal?
