After about thirteen years of being an African American,
I was suddenly sworn in as a white boy. Everybody was saying it
The teachers, the students, my mom, my aunts.
I was a white boy and did not know why.

I figured that it was because
I was lighter than most black kids.
Then I noticed something.
We never
talked the same way.

I would always pronounce every word as properly as it should be
not because I seeked refuge in another color
but because my mother would beat me five shades darker
if I sounded ignorant.

Did I have a problem being “black”? No.
Did I have a problem being “white”? No.
But they did.
Who did?
The black kids who weren’t white.

They couldn’t have been jealous of me
tucking my shirt in
or following the rules
or passing my tests
or having strict table manners in the cafeteria.
Anyone could do that.

Embarrassed.
They were embarrassed
because every black boy and girl
represented their race.
I was ruining the stereotype.

I didn’t care that the bubble sheet didn’t say human.
It irked me that I had to choose
Between day and night
Between black and white
Between master and slave.
My “people” felt betrayed
as if I turned myself over to the enemy team.

Waving a white flag for a new legion
Waving a white flag to surrender myself
to the ideals of those who only see
color.

If I can be any color that I want,
please let me be
the color of air.