My people

My people came from the lands surrounded by sea
They came into this world speaking a language foreign to me,
 Laughing around tables,
my people sing of their past
 Of the generations that come and go
Legacies which did not last
They sing together of stories
Whose meanings which I do not,
 and shall never know

My people fled fire and hate
 They survived destruction and rose up
Out of the ash, they climbed over the gate Breaking the barrier that had been corrupt
Ready to seize their own narratives
Write down a new command
The life they wished to live
Yet another thing that I have yet to learn, Understand

But I am not them.

Even when I bleed their blood
When I taste the metallic taste under my tongue My brain remains mine
 My life, my home; it belongs to me
I have grown each day in a country
Foreign and new to them
 A place to which only the bravest would dare venture

I grow up in a new age, a new world
Speaking a mother tongue which they did not Watching as the days go by,
 each one adding more death and destruction.
 To my new planet
My country of violence and hate
I cannot flee.
I cannot shout.
So I watch.

 I see the red of the paint
 Stark contrast to the pale walls of my sanctuary
 I taste the blood on my lips
A reminder of all the hate, loss
I hear the wails of the mourning
 Muffled yet they sustain themselves echoing around the ears of the deaf
 I keep on absorbing it all
My senses keenly feel the world
Grasping at any sense of good,
Any hope
Until it all entirely disappears
Until I’m numb

Because in my country,
 The land of milk and honey
 Opportunity for my people, I stay silent.
How can I not?
 When all that you ask of me is to be safe
But safe isn’t protesting/ It’s not change.

It’s hiding the blue and white in my blood
 Mixed with the red
One, Two, Three flags in my blood
Created by the colors of so many lifetimes

An individual meaning for each,
 How is my blood denied, with all of its color and history?
That because two people fell in love
That they trusted the world
To see them through; that
 Their children should be marked as unworthy
For either side to accept

 It’s letting my voice claw at my throat
 Begging to take flight
 Too scared by NO
A rejection of me; who I am
When no one not them nor I know who I am

Who will I be?

Rejected in a world where I look nothing like my people
 Because of the way my eyes slant or nose developed
 Is that why?
 They still live through me
So why can I not speak for them?
How can I still tell the stories of my forefathers and foremothers
 Even when they are gone

 Is it simply my looks?
Does the rejection run deeper into my veins for another rhyme or reason
Because of my ancestors and where they came from

My people came from everywhere,
And I Did as well
 I am everything that they are
New flavors added into an ever-changing spice mixture.
 I am new and bold bright colors on a white canvas
The paint is wet, ready to be molded
But it will still be squashed by the smallest direct step

So

Do not tell me to be quiet
 I have not even begun to speak
 My mouth is closed
A fine line; Ready to be crossed
 And when I
 Decide to shout to the world
To open and share out all of my ideas;
They will all hear me sing