[Poetry] I Refuse to Answer

I see you over there
Staring at me
Trying to pinpoint me
Then you finally ask
What are you?

You mean, what is the definition of me? What creates me? What kind of sperm and egg fertilized me?
Who am I? What am I?

There is no Webster dictionary that defines me.
There is no research material based on the findings of me.
There is no dignified answer to your question.
I am who I am.

I am not your little freckle-faced poster child for the mixed races.
I am not that quietly confused too-light-to-be-black-yet-too-dark-to-be-white-so-we-assume-she's-mixed young girl whose too-dumb-to-be-Asian-yet-too-smart-to-be-black intelligence and too-rich-to-be-black-yet-too-poor-to-be-white social status makes her too-affluent-to-know-the-struggles-of-black-people-yet-too-deprived to-enjoy-the-privilege-of-being-white.
I am who I am.

I am not a stereotype.
I do not fit into a category.
Or a puzzle.

I am not a fucking algebra equation.
Slavery + proper speech + money + light skin does not = me.
So do not attempt to figure me out.
I am who I am.
Not a puzzle
Not a math problem
Not your problem

I am me.
That is who I am.
That is who I will always be.

**written: April 16, 2008

Words & Sounds,

P. Nicole