I refuse to be just another statistic, Just another exotic wonder, Your excuse to say " oh I love mixed-race babies! " I will scrub this dirt from my skin, For if God had made me in his image, Why am I not pure like him? " What's your name then? " Disappointment hits when my name rolls off of their tongues just as easily as their own, I am mixed, not exotic, Not your fetish, You wear our hair, Hips, And lips like they belong to you, Like when people on Instagram call you " cute ", For taking something that doesn't belong to you. You treat our culture as something you can just slip in and out of, Like you are playing dress-up. " So where are you really from? " Don't you just mean " why don't you look like me? " Go on, Pick me apart like a case study in some desperate attempt to work out why I'm so different, Not black enough, Not white enough, An alien in my own country.