I Am_______

curious faces try and figure me out

I understand,

–curiosity may well be my fatal flaw–

unable to tell, they ask the once loved,

now dreaded, question

What are you?

I used to leap at the chance to tell a stranger

about my heritage: something I’m so proud of.

but they were not truly curious,

they were only unsettled that they couldn’t place me

I learned this when I was in the sixth grade

mid-sentence describing my father, a proud black man,

and they interrupted:

I don’t believe you.

You can’t be black- you’re too pale.

You don’t act black.

You’re too quiet to be black.

my existence is not something to be categorized

I am who I am

and I will not entertain irreverent questions.