Questions like these always...cut. I'm tired of defending who I am, or pretending that it doesn't hurt. I hear the whispers and I hear the jeers. I'm either pitied or thought of as "being too good." But really, I'm not. I'm not that strong and I'm not making a statement. I shiver in the cold, just like you. I bleed, if you cut me too. When I reach out in the darkness for help, I hope it's a kind hand that takes hold. I can't truly embrace my heritage b/c I'm always reminded that I've betrayed it. I'll never be accepted on the other side either b/c you're right, I'm not white. Guess what? The white man, he kicks me when I'm down too. And me, I like to kick myself too. I'm so bruised, I think I should rather embrace that other race--black & blue. I don't wear my armor anymore. The gauntlet is closing in; I've chosen my battles and I've even won a few but I'm afraid the war, it goes to you. I'm sure you won't remember me if I succeed, but if I fail, go ahead and pat yourselves on the back, and say what you've been wanting to say all along "I told you so". And if that was enough to make the pain go away, well, hell, I'd say you were right too.