What Am I?

A descriptive poem about the confusion of mixed heritage.

What am I,
but dew on the lips of a rose, dusted and calm,
hidden in the clear waters of the swirling noose,
lying in the swampy thickets, in the honeyed balm

What am I,
but a confused halfling, dancing on needles
skin like ivory, but blood as thick as the red man's mane,
hair black as the dead sea, inside the soul of a people

What am I,
eyes green from the Irish, lips thick from the African,
cheekbones Indian protruding high, chin small and denounced,
the Creole in my veins witching, the dilated pupils thicken, blacken

What am I,
Mwen ye, mwen yon revenan?
Languages course like streams, too harsh and copious for pretty French,
struggling beneath the mask, tears of confusion as they abandon

Who am I,
Mwen kriye tankou yon chante fineray,
heartbroken melodies, orchestrated forbidden whispers,
will it ever cease on my lips, ever gently falling into allay

Who am I,
but a dying language, echoed by Creole tricks and spices,
an unfitting ghost in the streets, a confusing mirage,
pooling salts of wasted, of luminescent vices

Who am I,
asked if the color of my tresses proves, of the accent of my heritage on my tongue,
Glassy shards that never fit, mirror rejects the harsh tapestry,
M'ap rele, mwen renmen, my heart is eternally wrung

Who am I,
but a grave stone silouette, a lone speck in the infinite trace,
if I beg, will it disappear, sa yo bouch madichon ak chevlur,
Hidden in the bright meadow of flowers, will I ever find my place?

Reviews

[∠( ᐛ 」..]

Good and wonderful. Questions and thoughts. Really inspiring.

[Javan]

It took me a couple read throughs to get your meaning properly, but I really like the way you make the words work for you. This is written beautifully.

Keep it up! :D