…But I’d like to deviate from the daily Parisian round-up and share my new poem with you. Enjoy.
Birthright
Before I could even learn to appreciate you, I was desperate to shrug you off, this mantle that clung to the nuances of my dark skin like birthplaces and legacies.
You were the mirror I was ready to turn away from, the reminder that I was nothing like them; not mysterious and joyous, but something to point at and destroy.
And what of it?
Merely the source of special names and special people;
merely the home of my creators;
merely a rich, colorful center.
Before I could even learn to appreciate you, they informed me that I was simply a location hoarder, not real like them, just the holder of an address that was not worthy of me.
You were the mirror I intended to claim, the reminder that blood and culture can be whatever I want it to be; not a clingy shroud of shame, but something to be proud of and accept.
And what of it?
Merely the source of special names and special people;
merely the home of my creators;
merely a rich, colorful center.
Birth and death, accents and colors, time and memory: you are mine and mine alone.
Let them cajole and caw.
I bear it well and I bear it unaffected.
Like the solid stance of a landmass, a continent,
you and I cannot be moved.
This Square Peg. 
Beautiful.
Thank you kindly.
Some are masters to words and words are masters to some. As for you, words are your slave. I really enjoyed reading this.
Your poem felt like a wave of wonderful emotions, I got carried along, and shook my head as intelligently as I could possibly manage, smile affixed. 🙂
The centre of our identity is, more often than not, a Place, and whether far or near, this Place leaves an indelible mark on us.
Elegantly written!
Wow wow wow–thank you so, so much. Coming from you, I accept the compliment. 💕💕💕💕 That one came from the soul; one of the most moments when the words seem to pour out. Thank you for voicing what I was communicating: that identity is a Place and that it leaves remnants.