I am from desert sand and tumble weeds, hot air and cold nights.
I am from scrubbing floors, babies, and cousins that I don't even know.
I am from late nights of coffee drinking and fortune telling,
listening to the call of prayer in the early morning.
I am from open spaces and thick trees,
miles and miles to civilization.
I am from fried green tomatoes and corn bread, eaten on the front porch swing,
crickets chirping and fresh cut grass.
I am from heavy coated accents, a division of black, white, and brown.
I'm from a new religion and an old religion; both intertwined with drives of guilt and shame.
The foundations control me and push me away.
Motherhood is my only divine role and men have the final say.
I push the boundaries in search of freedom, only to have the noose tightened.
I am a misfit and a rebel with fear of abandonment.
I am from my mother and my father.
I am from two cultures that fit together,
two cultures that collide.