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I don’t think about you —
most days
I don’t let myself wonder
>>what if<<
>>how come<<
>>why not<<
>>if only<<
>>why me<<
— most days

The reason is simple:
pride

But slowly, year by year
With each form with a check box,
Geography teacher
and new friends
All curious of heritage
The tolls are taken
I can hear each one
Clear as cathedral bells
Reminders of a part of me
Unmapped; uncharted

But now I find my missing piece
Advertised for ninety-nine

The irony —
it curls my toes
They ask you to
Spit into a tube
For the same reason you’ve
Spat at the ground

They’ll decode information
What should have been a birth right
Capitalizing on our questions
Our insecurities, and our sorrows

But we’ll let them
We have more blanks than our pride
We want something they can give
They want something that we have