Identity

I am an African, my great grandmothers shadow is

stitched into the flat of my A’s

I am an Arab, the thick of my lashes set like the curl of my R’s and the

sail that took my ancestors overseas

I am the nomad’s grandchild, the consequence of a new place

The closing chapter of a war story

I carry the slave-bearer’s blood, who took whip against wisdom and watched

as we reached new heights of inhumanity

I am that slave’s great grandchild, bought as a twelve year old and sold

into a new world, terrified

I am that second-wife’s grand-niece, destine to live in the confines of a castle

only to be liberated by an inevitable blood-shed

blood will always be shed

I am my history, stretched back into the dust of time

Reaching out into a future to claim my identity

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