You shoot me because you are scared.

Draped in a uniform of authority

Armed with a gun and reinforcements

Power in a twitch of an index finger;

You are scared of me.

You choose the bullet over backup.

I sit strapped in the passenger seat;

A child’s innocence shattering in the back.

Your gun is drawn,

But you are scared of me.

Even after the bullets fly,

I terrify you.

In you, I evoke a rush of terrible emotions,

Even before I can remove the safety belt.

These straps weren’t designed

To protect from this kind of impact.

From me, you soothe your conscience

Retreating to a narrative that restores your virtue.

I bleed out in the car,

Yet you curse me.

I bear the brunt of your bullets

And your blame.

You have not yet realized,

That you will not be punished.

Forgetting that your badge of honor

Will shield you from accountability.

You will not be asked  

To take responsibility for a black life

You are a man sworn to an oath

To protect and serve.

To protect you from you fear

And to serve a reminder

Of my place in society.

A Letter to the Racially Curious Stranger

Dear Curious Homogeneous Stranger,

I know my mixed features and ambiguously noncommittal brown skin intrigue you. I can see your eyes running inventory over my features, trying to figure me out.  An astute observer can recognize fairly quickly that I don’t check just one box on census forms. Either way, we invariably play a sometimes-too-lengthy game of ‘what-are-you?-No-I-mean-where-are-you-from?-No- I-mean-what-is-your-origin?’

My ethnicity will be compared to any place home to vaguely brown-skinned people. I can see the curiosity building as you list off all of the countries you know. For good measure, you may even switch into a different language as if you might trick me into revealing my true identity.

I see the bewildered and slightly disappointed expression when you discover the truth. “But you don’t look Ethiopian”. I see you are trying to reconcile my face with your previous experiences with mixed race people, but I assure I do not look like the other mixed raced girl that you randomly met once at a coffee shop, nor am I related to her. Still unconvinced, you prod me into persuading you about the legitimacy of my ethnicity, demanding a family tree history, complete with names, hometowns, and professions. I do this in vain because I still won’t fit in your narrow conception of race. Please note that your curiosity is no longer mildly amusing but offensive despite your good or innocent intentions. Furthermore, please understand that the world is not always black and white, even though, ironically, I am.

Sincerely,

Racially Ambiguous