A War of 31 Years

I arrived at this moment only after emerging from a waging war inside of myself. A war of two identities. A quiet, fiery war. A war of 31 years.

So, let me tell you where I’ve been...

While I should have been learning about my ancestors

I was over here trying to comprehend how a human could embody such predetermined hate for a Black granddaughter

While I watched my friends dance around without a care in the world

I was over here searching for more space to bury this burning fire inside of me

While I sat in front of a mirror getting my hair straightened because it was embraced, encouraged and even celebrated

I was over here succumbing to society’s pressure to be “more white”

While I should have been liking myself, for whoever I was

I was over here trying to figure out if boys liked me for me or because I was “exotic” and “different”

While people asked me “what are you?” time and time again

I was over here trying to understand whatever the fuck that meant, disguising my constant discomfort with laughter

While I watched constant appropriation of Black culture right in front of my eyes, yet wasn’t welcome

I was over here trying to understand why I didn’t have any in my life

While I should have been fighting to dismantle systemic racism as a whole

I was over here trying to dismantle the identity that society pushed onto me every day

I was over here, at war with myself.

I was over here, alone.

And now I’m here.