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a divide
a divide.
push
pull
split
fight
two sides of the coin
flip
heads or tails?
it lands on the ridge
perfectly balanced
as it
rolls
down
the hall
teetering
two doors raise themselves
no middle door
and i see two worlds
teetering.
The door on the right
smells of spice
warm curry and incense
deep fried tofu and sriracha
it breathes fire
and smoke
a history of ashes and memories best left forgotten.
The door on the left
tastes like apple turnovers
tart and rich
it burst in my mouth like lemon drops
and saccharine licorice
but the drums march on
and overwhelms
a history of deceit and forgotten memories unloved.
the coin rolls on
until it hits
and
drops
in between
the two doors.
They shut and
I am alone.
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Yes, the format is messed up. I wanted to write a poem that describes my experience being biracial.