From the Inside Out

June 24, 2012
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I'm stuck in a revolving door, spinning me between two languid floors.
One is me and so is another, both have my people, my sisters and my brothers.
Between bowl cuts and barbeque I share my love
But I can't fit steady into below and above.
My culture is divided but my face says it all
My features scream Asian louder than a wake up call
But they say it's what inside that counts, so why don't the see
The American
That Amounts
In Me?
What am I?
A division, smile and cry, black and white, perfect blend,
Halve another, stich and mend
Running down the road with a pen, spewing words about American men
While my skin, my eyes, my race tells more, find my real race when you open my door
Race, it's a word, a quest of speed,
To find that we are more than a breed
Biology, sometimes, but my heart beats proud,
For the love of myself and and my cultures so profound
My eye may be an eye, but what of my face? Much greater?
To set the my life on a pace, succeed sooner, or later?
It's a color, a search, an added plus, but
There's on true Race, and I would call it

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