Quit trying to place me in a neat little white box br Quit telling me who I am because I know who I'm not br I'm all shades of pale br My veins they bleed br But I'm not just a white girl. I'm native, Cherokee. br br My skin is not red like the sun is hot br I don't speak the tongue my ancestors have too soon forgot br But to assume you know my ethnicity based on what color you see br Is to reduce my identity to a complete simplicity br br So before you make assumptions br Listen to the words that I speak br Because not even I br Understand the complexity that is me br br I feel like a person who isn't recognized. br I'm only known for how I'm seen. A wandering undefined. br The ethnicity I claim is what most will never see. br In a society ruled by appearance, I'll never be seen as me. br br Do you know what it's like to feel like an interloper among your own race? br To look in a mirror and not see your own face? br I know who you're looking at right now. I know that's who you see. br But when I see her in a mirror, I don't see me. br br I see someone else's daughter, cousin, friend. br Someone else's classmate with milky white skin. br But coming to terms with how my two identities could coexist. br Has never been clear and has never made sense br br Because if you judge by appearence it's all easy br One identitiy is forced on me br So the other might as well not exist.