Autobiography Of A Face.

I see that my face confuses you
I have politely said ‘no’ to all your insistent, ignorant guesses
Yet you press me further

I am not from whichever exotic land you think I am from
I will not change my answer to make you comfortable
Quizzing me in badly regurgitated bits of random foreign languages
will also not impress me.
No, I do not have a recipe for whatever dish you fell in love with
at that new “ethnic” restaurant.

Drop your handy dandy pre-programmed label maker
Talk to me like I’m a human
Have a real conversation
Not a guessing game, like I’m some sideshow attraction.

My face is my face.
It is the one I was born with.
I look in the mirror and see hints of my mother and some of my cousins.
I see stories of struggles and challenges
imprinting my skin.
They make me who I am and keep me strong.

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