Fragility
Is
Not knowing
Who I am.
I don’t know who I am.
I don’t know where the cement was mixed and Who formed the
Bricks
That were laid
To create the home that I inhibit
All that remains is dust
Under the foundation
Cracked windows
And Lost souls.
Something so
Strong
Yet so
Fragile.
I don’t know who I am.
I don't know who planted the seeds
Within me.
I can’t find my roots—
Buried under the soil
Of plantations
Or discarded into the seas.
I don’t know who I am.
I am a concoction
Of the ancestors that I will
Never know the names of.
I don’t know who I am.
I am a
Multilingual,
Caramel-coloured,
Curly-headed girl with no past,
Only that of my parents
Where I received my life's blood and namesake—
Whose seeds were reaped and sowed
On an island
Filled with people like me
I do not know who I am.
Every part of me
Is malleable,
formed by post-colonial structures and capitalists
That rule the world and leave people like me
In the dark
With the truth that they are afraid to face themselves. I don’t know who I am, but I can tell you who I will become.