They all seem so intent:
one must be drawn
somewhere, somehow.
There's pride from
layers of history
too ancient to be stripped.
There's hair, and how to treat it.
There's family: gone or glue.
There's running the risk of erasing
essentials
in being lineless.
Yet these lines, lines,
they net,
confuse and prostrate.
They seem so silly to me
But I know they mean something to you:
you (oliveskinnedburkad)
who have something to lose,
and me (blondeblueeyedamerican) with nothing to.
________________________________________________________
My ancestry doesn't sizzle.
It doesn't scorch when touched
Doesn't recall ancient hollows
from gallows.
My ancestry doesn't create longing
Never had to fight for it
So never had to fret.
Your pain is a current event
Newspapers haunt and stir you
To action, frenetic and frantic.
While my identity stretches back, static.
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