In the Mix of Mentality

Trish Broome

When you’re mixed
or a blend,
I’ll tell you, my friend,
the questions don’t end.
They just start to offend.
Like, are you Chinese?
Where were you born?
Do you accept both sides?
Is there one that you mourn?
Maybe you’re torn
or you’ve sworn
not to tell.
Maybe the truth is 
you’re mixed so well 
that this hell
where you dwell
in the middle in the dark
is the space
where you race
to replace your old heart.
To mend what was broken.
To live what you’ve spoken.
Be true to the you
and do.
And show them.
Shake me, you’ll see
that I blend beautifully.
But the bits
that are split 
and break free
are as me as can be.
I’m neither, yet all.
An imperfect sight.
Don’t be the kind
who is blind 
or confined.
I’m more than alright.