I have experienced my body divide,
My body has split in two and moved,
It's moved physically and mentally,
I don't know where I belong.

Physically I've moved from one country to another,
Mentally I thought I'd remain,
Agenda after agenda and attacks on those least fortunate,
Causation of my mentality to now follow suit and depart the supposed land of cultural heritage.

Going 'home' no longer feels like home,
It feels wrong,
I feel shaky, I feel judged,
I want to leave they're looking at me,
But I'm white I have privelidge,
My physicality doesn't let me fall to prejudice but my mentality does,
It's like I'm invisible,
Undercover, I'm a target but they know not of me.

Judgement made in prejudice,
Discrimination made in skin colour and faith,
This is no longer my home,
Goodbye.

Raza
sounds like the Ra'zac in real life is the
word origin of "race" is the
world origin of "I hate you because I
can" I race
away from race and riot quietly in my
mind
without hope of
escaping my body my
flinch
away from a black
man walking my
instinct to correct double
negatives when really they aren't
not
right;
I'm not right

Race
Grace
You need the latter
To run the former

What have I done?
To be treated like dirt in your eyes.
Always under the gun.
Constantly being vandalized.
Forever on the run.

Run Race Horse Run
The shows only just begun.
What goods a race horse that's not any fun?
Show me your teeth like a good one.

You want to tame me,
But I was born to be wild and free.
Not in a dudgeon.

Over extended.
Is a reoccuring theme.
Limits.
Physical or mental.
Plague the race like those that litter the edges with temptation.
To the point that running is no longer an option.
Looking down at the unmoving ground.
Watching the cement dry.
Disorienting the opponent.
Creating a cast of skin that never falls.
Only smiles.
What was the goal.
When some other form finishes.
Words have failed.
Just as fighting did.
And the walk back to the starting line.
Is so crowded.
The gun sounds and reaction takes hold.
Trying to hurdle the gravestones left behind.
Yet one can't help but place flowers at each one.
Nameless they stay.
Remembered they remain.

be careful
don't speak too loudly
keep your sentences clipped.
short and sweet
is the way to go.
conflict is terrifying
it makes your body go numb
causes the gears in your head to rust
all of your thoughts come to an
ugly
screeching
halt.
go quiet.
it was just a joke.
why can't you be in on it?
just force a laugh out of your lungs,
oil the corner of your lips so they can
twist
into an involuntary smile.
why can't you be like the other people?
your pain doesn't matter
your suffering
doesn't need to be brought up every second.
give into the hilarious stereotypes that haunt you
every time you get looks on the train
or when security follows you in a store
or when someone like you is shot
or murdered
or *****.
don't be such a square.
just
laugh about it.

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.

drop a mouse into a pool full of pyranhas and see what happens
build those section 80 houses in that hood, go ahead...do it.
The problem arises when not only one mouse is dropped, but a million at once, many of the mice will struggle and emerge victorious, possibly even favored by evolution or just blind luck.
Many Many more of the mice will be ripped apart by the pyranhas, never even getting a glimpse of life beyond that miserable pond.
The pyranhas will keep consuming.

We are all dead
or we are all alive
We live in the grey
but there is no dividing line
Brown or pink
Black or white
Shades and shadows dividing
by what you think they think
  about why you are
  when what you are
            is living
In dying for difference
            we are lost
In thinking too much
and in not living enough