The Happy Medium

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I’d like to say I grew up in the “happy medium:”

Between marches, riots, and fights in the pursuit of Civil Rights,

And the fall of those two towers when the plane went right through them

When “terrorist” was added to my 6 year-old concept toolkit,

Not to mention, I was a light-complected Hispanic girl,

I wasn’t “Asian-smart,” “African-crime prone,” necessarily “white privileged,” or “Muslim terroristic.”

Where did I fit? Sometimes, I’m glad I didn’t.

Today, I am an aspiring multimedia journalist,

Seeing the world unfold before my eyes in print and on TV

And learning in class, what deliverer of news I ought to be

Let every story be told, and not one person’s voice go unheard

But it’s not always so easy,

A story may not be “big enough” to have a camera crew or reporter allured

A story should be relevant, heart-warming, or compelling

Regardless of color, minority category; it’s the STORY you’re selling

And yet, amazingly enough a good story will go uncovered because of this

It’s your job to report the news, but because of some prejudice, something might go amiss

However, I will be sent out, because I can “relate,”

Because I sit in the happy medium, this story doesn’t necessarily have to wait

When will there come a day when these stories are told without hesitation or fear

Of uncovering what’s just “domestic.” Until that day though, I’ll just be sitting here

In the happy medium

Between my status as a minority, and the tools to help me tell someone’s story 

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