Welcome Home Outcast

There are so many times when I wonder what my life would have been like if I had grown up in Toronto. Growing up in the States, specifically in the South, has been… hard. 

In case you haven’t met me, I’m not white. I’m not black. I’m not Hispanic. I don’t fit. I have no group to identify with and in my years of observing and trying to participate, it’s become somewhat clear that all guys, I don’t care the race, want one of two things: a white girl, or one of their own. So, what does that mean for me, a multiracial, brown Canadian girl? I don’t have any answers for that question. 

I do know that I’m educated and intelligent, which trust me, don’t always go hand in hand, I work my ass off, I’m independent, I’m healthy, I love fiercely, and I laugh at my own jokes, so I’m the funniest. 

What’s wrong with me? I don’t think anything, other than I self sabotage and have many insecurities, but I’m human. So, is it because I can’t claim a race? Is it because I’m not white?

Fuck if I know.

What I do know is that at this point in my life, YOU do not define who I am. You will not make me feel ugly or worthless. You will not treat me like I’m disposable, only talking to me when it suits you, never fully committing. 
This is me. 
I’m little and brown and have everything to offer. 

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