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I'm an artist, and like most artists, I've got a story.
an insecure insecurity something that isn't really mine a fleeting thought hidden in shadows brought forward by history's rhyme. the attempted genocide of natives i know that it's not right
Ripped from my cocoon, I stand in a lunch room, looking for a seat. I just want to eat. I am not expecting a mirror but I cannot see myself here. It looks like each table has a code
My name is Kimberly, I'm seventeen and I'm mixed- Mexican and Vietnamese As a kid I don’t remember a time I questioned my ethnicity
I can see the watered-down half-truths in your eyes. Your lips form textbook words; whitewashed lies, Backhanded apologies because you are allergic to blame.
Binary. Ones and zeros. Female and male. Homosexual and heterosexual. Black and white. Right and wrong. Your world is small when you cut out infinity.
As I fill out the form it asks me Oh darlin' what's your racial identity? I look to the sky I think with all of my might Am I african american or am I caucasain white? My skin is fair
Once a girl almost of age So bright on the outside Was filled with blight she sought to cage And slowly did she hide Half and half she felt inside Symbolic of her skin
I am a Realist, But also an Idealist, Because when the world is at its worst, That is when I am at my best. One son, Was done, By two parents Of two colors
How do you spell that? What does it mean? In what language? What are you mixed with? So which one of your parents is black? Wait, one fourth white? How does that work? What kind of asian are you?