How dare you do this to me?
Reopening the wound on my heart
That you had made there and
That I had to mend on my own

How dare you give me these careless words?
That make me feel so conflicted
That make me ache
That make me loose my sanity

How dare you force this door open?
When I thought I locked it down?

How dare you do this to me?
When I thought I was over you.

hard liquor makes my stomach turn.

opening a bottle of ***** is like taking the lid off of a tupperware container full of liquid charcoal.
I swear it looked like something delicious,
but the way it folds in my stomach,
not at all like how my mother taught me to fold batter in a bowl,
tells me otherwise.

downing a shot in one go is challenging.
this cake ***** doesn’t taste at all like cake,
and fireball has a tendency to taste like actual fire,
and i’m still not sure if that’s actually intentional. maybe ironically.
but a dare’s a dare and spin the shot landed on me
i wasn’t playing, i was really just walking by
no really, someone else can have it, go ahead, spin it again
but the arrow is pointing right at me and now everyone is staring and well,
a dare’s a dare.
isn’t it?

a dare’s a dare until liquid charcoal isn’t all you’re spewing,
because word ***** and actual ***** kinda feel the same
at least after six shot of… well i’m not really sure.
that cute guy over there… no the other one. in the hat.
he gave it to me,
said it’ll loosen me up.
I suppose i believed him, half because i wasn’t really listening,
i was looking at his teeth
I wonder if he whitens them.
he must have had braces.

well anyway, i drank it and it kinda tasted like gasoline
but i bet i looked cool swigging from his two six.
probably only until the sixth chug, when the first one hit my eyes
and i couldn’t really see ****** expressions anymore
i guess that’s when i got brave

word ***** and actual ***** kinda feel the same,
especially when you’re not really sure which one is happening
oh, maybe both.
and now he’s holding my hair and i’m biting my tongue
but my stomach is heaving and he looks so good
he definitely had braces. no one is born with teeth that nice
i bet he doesn’t drink red wine
i bet he flosses twice a day.
i should brush my teeth
this doesn’t taste like cake at all.

e: everything you do makes my ****** mood turn okay
m: man , you sure look beautiful, like any other day.
o: only you give me butterflies, and believe me thats new
t: this truly is too good to be true but...
i: i... i think i'm in love with you.
o: obviously you've heard that before but...
n: no-one catches my blue eyes like you do.
s: surely we can be something more then friends, or at least pretend.

My father is black and my mother is white
And though we live in a new generation I still find myself having to give explainations on how all of this works
The ignorance of race really hurts
No this is not good hair
No you can't touch it keep your ******* hands to yourself
No I'm not Mexican or Puerto Rican
Stop guessing above all else
I'm black like you
And I'm white like her
I'm flesh and blood not claws and fur
But see you don't want to accept me
Of course unless I'm president Obama or Halle Berry
Did you know they were mixed?
Or were you so deep in the lime light you don't care
Because on the streets I'm not considered black no matter how coarse my hair
I use relaxers too
I've had my hair braided
I've been called ******
I've been followed in stores
I've been sent to the end of the line for no reason
Denied friendship for seasons
And wouldn't you know
(Being black was the reason)
But its just not enough to gain any trust

I don't look anything like white people so I dont even try
Only hope for full acceptance from the other side
And yet still I'm left feeling quite empty inside
Where the hell do I fit in?
Who's on my side?
Since claiming black or white is considered a crime

This was when I decided to become an advocate of self
I found who I was
Didn't need any help
I don't let my race define who I am
But I embrace both my colors
They work well with each other
And that's something society just will not understand

my mother has blue eyes
but I'm still a ******
my mother has blonde hair
but I'm still a ******
my daddy is black as night
but I'm still a *******
my daddy has ***** curls
but I'm still a *******

I call this hash tag the struggle
because to be biracial is nothing
more
because to be biracial is nothing
less
than a struggle
to find who I am
to find who I should be
to find who I'm supposed to be

i really wish they were the same person
i really wish you understood hash tag the struggle
but you don't
and you won't

so stop telling me about my
good hair
and stop telling about my high
yellow skin
and stop telling me my parents have the fever
and stop staring at me when I
walk in
and stop trying to guess which parent is black
and stop trying to guess which parent is spanish

No

I'm not Spanish.

No

I don't speak Spanish.

No

You CANNOT touch my hair

Yes, my nose is in the air
Of course I think I'm the ****
Because I live my life trying to be better than women who are dark skinned ...with something I was born with
...out of my control
Of course I try to flaunt my plush lips around the white girls who get botox
who then become the have nots because I've stolen all the brothas hearts from the city and the boondocks

See you don't even know me
but you think these are my goals

see I call this hash tag the struggle because nobody understands the trouble in being whole
when you're given two halves
that don't match to patch up one soul
and you're born into a ****** up mess still expected to know

and they tell you to ignore them all
be yourself
race should not define you
but I can't even fill out two ******* boxes on a standardized test
because you are only allowed to check ONE to describe you

hash tag
**TheStruggle