alien

(Whispering)
“What are you?”
“What are you?”
“What are you?”

Well…
I am not sure how it happened.
But somehow,
I was born into a divide
Between three socially constructed things, named “races.”
And now
I am eternally attached to socially constructed pain
And denial.
I am an alien, you know.
Yes,
I AM an alien,
An alien.

I know I am an alien, because
Of those boxes.
Those boxes on paperwork,
On standardized tests,
School application forms,
On background check forms,
On, on,
On,
Everything.
The boxes that encase other boxes
With these vague categories next to them:
African American (pause.)

Caucasian (pause.)

Native American (pause.)


As if
It was that simple.

Oh,
Oh.
I forgot
“Other.”
Other is for people who aren’t JUST
Caucasian (pause.)
Who aren’t JUST
Native American (pause.)
Who aren’t JUST
African American (pause.)

Strange,
When I fit all of the above criterion. I am
Caucasian (pause.)
I am
Native American (pause.)
And I am
African American (pause.)
But
To corporations, governments, and institutions I am still
“other.”
Other.
Other.
Other.
Other.
Other-
nothing.
Alien.

Thank you,
Corporations, governments and institutions
For not allowing me to have an identity
Outside of
other.


There was a “teacher,”
who told me to choose one.
Can you guess which one?
I lived with my white father (at the time)
So I chose: Caucasian.
I chose. She grimaced as she stared at my brown skin, and curly hair.
I cried.
I sighed.
I lied.

Sometimes I tried to see the boxes with humor.
I would choose “Hispanic,” because I knew I could pass as…
quickly turned into a rumor.
I speak no Spanish, and
Neither does my family.
There are no signs of Spain
Or South America in my ancestry.
There was a teacher,
Who told me that I couldn’t "lie,"
I had to choose the box that “truly” reflected I.
The Cortisol jumped in my blood,
And I wanted to hide
But I bent over, checked “other.”
And knew that I lied.
But it was an “ok” lie, according to the lady
Whom passed herself off as a
"teacher."
Who gave us packets of worksheets
and assigned seats.
Not her problem.
Not her problem.
Not her problem.

My lies,
My ancestry,
My life,
My pain.
My soul.
My identity.
My alien.
My other.
My alien.