Mani, Grade 10
I look at the list of boxes and can only see myself fitting outside of their rigid lines
Squeezing into their tiny spaces seems impossible
My skin would surely spill out over the edges if I tried
My pencil nears the dreaded other
Hovering above
It stares back at me mockingly, daring me to conform
Challenging me to choose one
Be one
For nobody wants to listen to a detailed family origin
No one wants to need to pause, hesitant before they begin to describe you
Be simple
Be pure
If you are a mutt
classify yourself as your most prominent breed
But what if what you are is not how people see you?
Like throwing a pink sock in with a load of whites
One painstakingly small thing bleeds into everything else
Dying it, consuming it, becoming it
Hiding everything that was not strong enough to resist being engulfed
A guilt that follows me if I make a selection
Which ancestor will be neglected today?
Not carried forth in the existence of their great-granddaughter Who is forgotten because their kin is ashamed?
And wants to belong
Would they ever understand?
I am pulled in many directions
Some paths have a stronger tug,
A firmer grip
A softer touch that makes me inclined to follow them
Which am I?
Which do they want me to be?
Which do I appear to be?
Which would most benefit me?
I am a shapeshifter
The middle section of a Venn diagram
can not be molded into all
But can be applicable to most
Is it even important?
Just be
But to be
without a proper handle on your identity
How lonesome
How faceless
How other
…