Caucasian? No. Hispanic? No.

You tell me to check off only one race listed below, but that’s just not the case

You’re over here wondering, questioning my race

I see you staring at me, looking at me with those judgmental eyes. Questioning me, trying to pick me apart and figure out who I am

Ma’am, please let me explain-

I have pale white skin like a ghost, and hair like a lion’s mane

I come from both poverty and privilege. I come from the hood and the suburbs. I come from both love and hatred. But I cannot pick a side, I cannot choose a favorite, I am both.

I can’t understand why my race matters

Your questions keep attacking me, I feel like a batter hitting a baseball

My families don’t talk to each other, it’s not their fault though, they don’t speak the same languages, but I guess that’s just what it is

I sometimes don’t know who I am, but you only make it harder

Knowing what race I am won’t make you any smarter

I’m sorry I don’t have all the answers, I just don’t know

I guess the dictionary would label me as biracial, but that’s funny you know?

How come you know what I am, but I still don’t.