Balancing Act

I am half-African,

half-Czech.

I am British by birth,

American by nature.

I am the “other”.

I am every “other”.

I am two-faced, double-sided, multifaceted –

trapped in a void between the self locked within

and the self on display.

I am shoved onto the high wire,

forced to walk the thin line between

black and white -

self-assuredness and self-loathing.

I am tossed a flimsy, white pole.

It shifts its weight, right to left

aiming to cast me into the dark sea

and feed me to the starved sharks below.

I am reposed.

The pole’s weight drives my feet into the iron rope.

Cold sweat drips down my face.

I am the show.

The spotlight singes my clammy skin -

blood seeping from my butchered feet

coats the metallic lifeline

a rich, warm scarlet.

I am trudging across this boundary

between mortality and dissolution,

holding my breath.

They hold their breath, too,

and clench their hands, anticipating my plummet.

I am praying for my life,

my soul,

my identity.

They pray for my demise.