And then We Were Woke.

Three.

Three.
I am three.
I am the enslaved prosperity that will never be understood.
Three.
Three identities are hidden within these walls of fire that will never cease to hinder.
Three.
Three forms of languages I will never come to terms with because the white man stole my African roots.
The ones I will never get back.
How will I ever be accepted?
No sympathy for the girl who has never seen the Latin language drip from her tongue.
No one will understand that apart of her was masa
And she hates herself for her ancestry.
Maybe she will cope when she can be all three.
Three.
Three traits she did not choose all in one body.
Sucking up all confusion,
All hate,
All of the people who chose to accept one side and not the others.
Three.
Three equals me.
And I must find a way to accept it.
Three.
Maybe if she didn't have to choose one, she could love herself.
Because these are what makes her,
She.