white hands are magnetically attracted to my tresses the way they bounce when i'm running to the bus stop how it curls from the top to the bottom. when i tell people what i am they nod and say, "no wonder you have that hair." i wake up in the morning conscious of my existence the whiteness of my father's father is not present in my skin but it is there in the way i talk on the phone, "ain't" and "finna" tucked neatly into the corners of my teeth. when my boss sees me for the first time in person, they will part their mouth slightly and say, "you're so unique." the latinos at school are lighter than me their hair is straighter than mine and their spanish is much more polished. when they heard my first grammar mistake they frowned and said, "oh great, another ******* coconut." i will die an oxymoron, a paradox a cultural clusterfuck who doesn't know what a border is. i will die undefined, unknown, as a variable in a math problem written by the hands of a white man who thought everything could be solved if it was done his way.