PoETrY VauLT::: So I look deep inside myself Searching for something to look back at: The UNpURe BlooD of a SLAVE

Here is another one from the Poetry Vault:

July 29, 2006 • Saturday 

The Un-pure Blood of a Slave


used and abused
    forsaken     untaken           
                             naked- tamed and beaten-

 poisoned -killed -revived        
                                                raped, robed and 

stolen away from all I know

the un-pure blood of a slave can be attached to my name.

And for the same reasons as my grandmother
and great grandmother,
and her mother's mother before her... I find myself looking for a home. 

Because not too many people are from around here.
So I look deep inside myself searching for something to look back at,
     I find this to be a task I am unable to achieve.
I am running but going nowhere...
so I quickly fall,  feebly attempting to pick up the broken pieces of my existence.
       I know not where they go,
scattered here and there some fall right back 

where

 they previously landed,
 and others are sent to different parts of this world.
A part I know nothing of,  their land of origin, a distant land I've seen only on television
and envisioned
in my mind while read and reread the finial revisions of the imprisoned leaders memoirs.
           These parts are the surface,
these parts are what people see... those true lies my skin hides.. but these parts are rejected by their own. There is no one in this distant land that claims them... not one soul in this land claims me... so in my defense I offer up proof...

"We share the same skin!"

but my skin is much fairer than theirs...

"Hair!"

but my hair proves to be much more fine in texture and lighter to the eyes...

"Roots."

... yet no one recognized these pieces of me, not one claimed to be a kin to me.

so I was rejected, neglected... and forgotten.

There was an uproar. "FORGET ME NOT!!!" screams from inside of me... but this voice is silenced. This voice lacks culture this voice lacks meaning... this voice has no home, so this voice is loud, but unheard... all together but incredibly undone.  These are the strands that blend with my blood, these are the stands that bind me, this is the un-pure blood of a slave that runs through my veins, it is mixed and matched, a bit of everything yet this proves to be nothing.

And some of these strands are native...

So for the same reasons as my grandmother and great grandmother, and her mother's mother before her I find myself looking for a home. Because not too many people are from around here, you see. So I look deep inside myself searching for something to look back at, but I can not.
 I'm am running but going nowhere...
so I quickly fall,
feebly attempting to pick up the broken pieces of my life.
I know not where they go,
scattered here and there some fall right where
they previously landed,
and these that
were planted here... native blood, the thick blood of a tribe that I have searched for yet can never find. I have heard of my people yet can not find them... I see their tracks but as I look down the road I see they were attacked. These people, they don't look like me...
my face shows of
this blood
this face, show’s a trace but my own people deny me...
I am not one of them... a only hold a piece.
I hold of piece of what could be...
but these pieces inside me
have denied me.
 My skin is much darker than theirs
 and my hair much thicker,
my blood is not pure...
Their minds unsure.... so by them I was rejected, neglected... and forgotten.

so I take these pieces put them in a bottle shake it up, pour this into a cup, drink from a cup the bitter taste
it leaves a sour look on my face,
 this unclaimed,     uncultured,     un-pure blood of a slave girl's face...
My reflection in the mirror tells a lie, the slight slant in my eye is untrue, my name Hebrew, my skin ‘African’, bones Indian, my home taken, my blood tainted with traces of Caucasian, Asian, Spanish, Mediterranean, here and there, a just a bit of everywhere... I am you, I am them, I am us... but I can not find me,
Your culture I envy.
...and the pieces of me slide into place, looking down I wonder how I even got to this place...
send me back were I came from, if you can find it.
Show me the road to follow, if I can read the signs... show me a place filled with people like me... I'm surrounded but so alone... help me find my home.

help me find my people...
help me...
so I can no longer be....
everything...

and nothing. 

.thepoet.   -metamorph.-