two cultured,
my mind cluttered,
i struggle,
attempt to juggle.
assimilate, they say,
but not too much,
not all the way,
operate a light touch.
i am never enough,
will never be enough.
i used to think i hated my name,
the way it sounded so thick,
so rough,
never normal enough,
never simple enough,
but i just hate the way it sounds because i betray myself,
put my culture on the shelf.
the ten letters of my name taunt me,
haunt me,
as if they know that i force them to be dull, sound heavy,
as if they know that i take away their natural lilt,
as if they know that i give into the pressures of the community around me,
simply because it’s different than me.
and i hate the way that i change the way i speak,
tuck my accent into my cheek,
hiding, dividing myself into two clear halves,
fitting in as i betray my history,
choosing one of two clear paths.
but how is it fair when my own culture betrays me,
tells me how i should be,
decides who i am for me,
tells me that i am not enough,
will never be enough.
be proud of your heritage, but hide it,
keep it quiet,
live out loud,
but never in the crowd,
go on, try it.
how do i decide,
who i am,
when i am judged from every side?
i love who i am,
every side of me,
but i wonder when that will be enough.
