Look at me.Let my skin tell you a story of pain and suffering, let my eyes give you sight and show you my history. And it's odd to me because as history goes I know of her struggle but not her name, my great grandmama's face, nor my great grandfather stern gaze. My history was ripped from me then handed back in a textbook, like a stolen jewel being given back as a gift from its captors. They try to cultivate and appropriate my culture like it's a shirt that fits them better. You asked me what I'm mixed with because you see my blackness as something to be covered. But my blackness is not ***** that needs a chaser, it is not a ***** car that needs a little whitewashing and a paint job.
You asked me what I'm mixed with so here is my response; I am mixed with melanin and love swlirled into chocolate beauty. I'm mixed with strength and pride, fierce do I roar with the voice of the wise ancestors who gave birth to hope for my grandma, my mommy, and me. I am one part black and ninety nine parts victory. I am not a tragedy of circumstance I am a product of excellence. You ask me if I am mixed because you think I'm to pretty to just be black. Here's a news flash, I am pretty because I'm black! From the kinks of my curls to the dance in my toes, I am designed from the roots of the earth. In tune with its gravitational pull.
Everyone knows the moon only shines in the blackness of night. Stop trying to force an eclipse because they don't last anyway, only burn out to be surrounded by the blackness once more. You asked me what I'm mixed with, allow me the same courtesy. Are you mixed? What are you mixed with? Fear, hate, rage, disgust, or shame? I don't assume any of these for a wise woman once said, " people are diamonds made up of different pressure some in different measures and if you don't know don't judge for it is not your contest." I am on a conquest of love and redemption. I won't blame you for your ancestors but I will hold you to a certain standard.
So before you ask me what I am mixed with, think. Does it even matter?pretty is pretty so don't you dare come at a Nubian goddess cross eyed or tongue-tied, prepared to gain insight of her bloodline. She will shatter all illusion, destroy all thoughts of doubt. She will tell you she is black. She will say it in a song song voice because of the melody ringing in her soul when she makes this known. It will roll off her tongue like honey. For no other words ever tasted so sweet. She is a black queen. Mixed with blood and bones.

In the bottom of her drink,
she found the undeniable truth,
that she was right to feel and think,
that she wasted most of her youth.
Looking back on those late nights,
there was real purity between both eyes,
that shone brighter than all the lights,
and held more beauty than a sunrise.

With mixed drinks and mixed feelings,
it's hard to always stay on course,
every word can set you reeling,
regardless of it's force.
Melting dilutes the flavor,
and it's potential to set you free,
with each sip you try to savor,
the things that can never be.
With mixed drinks and mixed feelings,
no it's not meant for the weaklings.

In the shadows of a smoke filled room,
she prays to whoever listens for one more chance,
it would still be fated to be met with doom,
that's just always due to circumstance.
The glass is not half empty,
and it sure as hell isn't half full,
it's contents spilt on the floor for all to see,
and her grasp neither pushed nor pulled.

With mixed drinks and mixed feelings,
it's hard to always stay on course,
and each sip meant to be healing
is dampened and ruined by remorse.
The straw will get you more drunk,
but it's not half as satisfying,
that ship sailed until it sunk,
so it was never even worth trying.
With mixed drinks and mixed feelings,
it was shown the potential hit it's ceiling.

So down your last glass, and say your last word,
'cause time goes by too fast, your confessions won't be heard.

"Will you remember me?"
she asks me so fondly,
"lately I've been forgetting,
but you're just so **** haunting."