My African Drum

Sometimes it's easier to go along with what people assume

They get confused when she says she's from Africa 

And rightly so 

She looks American 

White skin 

Blonde hair

Green eyes

She sounds American 

She acts American 

She easily blends in

And it's easy to keep it that way

Yet, she's not American 

There is a part of her

A part only some see

That dances to the beat of a different drum 

And sings in words of a different language

A part that walks barefoot along dusty paths 

While warm wind blows through her curly hair

A part of her that laughs 

That bursts with colors as bright as the African sun 

A part of her that lives to the rhythm of the ekongo 

A part of her that gets locked away - hidden under the surface of who she is

Or who she appears to be

A part of her that confuses people

That causes them to ask questions she doesn't have answers to

A part of her that causes them to treat her differently 

Or push her away

No matter how desperately she wants them in her life

A part of her that causes people to make assumptions

Expectations

Of who she is 

Where she comes from 

And how she should act

She will never be fully this while being fully that

"You're too African" 

"You're so American"

"You're not African enough" they say

And yet "you will never be fully American" 

Voices contradict themselves

No matter what she does

What she says 

What she wears

No matter how she looks 

How she dances

How she acts 

She can never not confuse someone

She can never explain who she is 

Or, according to them, what she is 

She can never live up to the expectations of a culture 

Of who they expect her to be

She will always be different

She will always confuse people

She will always have to provide an explanation

She will always defy odds

She will always dance to her African drum 

And live to the rhythm of the ekongo