You tell me to go back home
what must I do to make you happy? my mouth does not curve the way you'd like I can't speak words that hit close to home we are worlds apart from being alike I have softer features: a smaller frame, tanned rough skin and eyes slit open just slightly You ask me if I can see, and I tell you, most days I can see quite clearly My ancestors have carried me so far, my calves are heavy and my toes spread apart My grandparents survived solely on rice - I must do the same When they weave, they weave threads of red, white and black and with them, dignity and pride But I have been wearing dull colours, beige, grey and blue but they must suffice, I must make myself blank so that you can paint your culture on top of mine I must assimilate, I must adapt, I must try and I try and I try and I try. What can I change to make you like me more? Shall I burn my clothes? exchange my shoes and bags, change my closet to look like yours? It took acres of my ancestor's land and my father's...