Incomplete:

She is                                                       divided.

belonging nowhere.

Not in            India,

                      where she cannot speak Marathi fluently.

Not in            Fargo

                      her first home, around her a plethora of snow and white

or                  Charlotte 

                      her second, where she still relates to no one

she feels                                                    divided,

                                                       stuck.

                      Not white enough,

not brown enough.

Surrounded by those who don’t look like her,

but who she tries to imitate.

           she is between both sides,

                      Both sides are a part of her,

                                 but neither are whole.

                      she is unfinished,

           rugged edges,

broken shards of glass,

           only appearing complete.

                      She belongs neither here nor there.

She is                                                       divided.

Roti:

“What is that smell?”

She heard for the first time.

She looked down at her vegetables,

her soft homemade flatbread to eat it with.

Barely hearing the birds chirping over her beating heart,

           quickening,

                      worried someone would see.

She averted her eyes,

the stones

           weighed down 

           her stomach.

Always taught that different was something to be proud of,

she knew:

           different was weird,

                      abnormal,

                                 something that could be mocked.

Everyday she wanted to fit it,

but today she wanted to blend in.

She crumpled her roti and vegetables,

shoved them under thick napkins,

                      concealed.

She let go a breath she didn’t know she was holding,

           and took out her oreos instead.

She told her mother never to send her with roti again.

Never again would this girl be the victim of the question, “What is that smell?”.

Today, this girl makes her own roti and vegetables.

Today this girl has realized,

           different is beautiful.

Extra Honey:

Skin.

It is just something to cover your bones.

She just had some extra honey in it.

So why did it affect the way she felt?

So why did she squirm every time her skin made her stick out school pictures?

Was it because she wanted to be the same as everyone else?

           It was because it reminded her that she didn’t fit in,

           that her grandparents didn’t live a few miles away,

           that people would always ask her where she was from,

that people would forever assume her race, intellect, and language.

She was fond of her skin, but hated what it brought,

           until she found her people.

Her skin did not affect how she related to them.

           She finally felt understood.

                      She finally realized that her skin really was something more than skin

                                 it held her ancestors' features,

                      a reminder that she was unique.

           It helped her remember her culture.

It was part of her, and a part she finally loved.