Confessions of a Quadroon

These are the confessions of a Quadroon.

Now its possible that these words are coming at you too soon

and maybe I should wait until that Obama / Mulatto hype

fades through the American conscience.

Yeah maybe my story’s just a little too honest.

A little too harsh a reminder of equal rights’ false promises,

a little too bright is the light I shed on what

'lactification' trauma is.

These are the confessions of a Quadroon,

someone who is three-fourths Massa and one quarter Coon.

someone who changes colors based on the racial make up of the room.

And some folks call us Mixed Race.

But the only time I’ve been mixed up in my race

is in the worlds’ haste to put me in a category,

to strip me of my yin and yang reality.

You see, I wouldn’t even exist before color TV.

Back then I’d be an anomaly,

a ‘go out and try to trick whitey girl’ type baby.

These are my confessions.

Just gotta get it off my chest

so I do this instead of therapy sessions.

I spit in rhythmic bits,

cracked like Pangeas continents

as split apart as is

my racial confidence.

I wish I had some instructions

a guidebook for the colorblind or somethin'

to keep my veins away from self-destruction,

to keep my brain away from the color-coded corruption

that I can see is everywhere.

These are the confessions of someone who’s never felt fully there

who’s never in sync. It’s like writing in blue

when everyone else in the class has black ink.

But I’ve got a little black too. Said, I’ve got a little black too!

Great, now you can color me till I am black and blue- bruised

from being beaten with my own confused roots.

These are the confessions of a Quadroon

Someone who never knew how to be a

Black, German, Irish, Romanian Jew.

I was taught to pray

so I prayed to God knowing he would tell me what to do

and when I asked, when I asked

he showed me that I’d live an easier life if I were to just pass.

I'd live an easier life if I were to just pass for white.

And you know what, he was probably right.