I should be someone,

act a certain way,

as depicted by the color of my skin

and the way my eyes are shaped.


I don’t and for that,

I am scorned.

Stay in your lane,

some scream.

While others murmur,

“Why is the white girl here?”

Even though on every standardized test

I’ve ever taken

I check “Native American/Pacific Islander.”

It’s hard to figure out

what my skin means

when what I am inside

is much more colorful.

Why can’t they see

I’m not my culture?

I am me.