Ménage à trois

My features, they betray me
with their inside joke,
my identity comprised of an awkward three-some.

But when I’m drunk, so I’ve heard,
the southern drawl spills
out like molasses.

I’ve lived my life as a chameleon,
camouflaging into the background,
hidden in someone else’s wild.

I shake my hips to any salsa beat
and can’t speak without using my hands
my latin refuses to be evicted.

Your heritage houses your soul.

But here in the valley, I’ve drawn
curtains around my heart,
making sure to keep its volume down.
Blending in like the furniture.

 Still not quite enough, but almost tolerable
and yet my walk, that Yankee doodle gait,
gives my secret away and  I cannot deny
my body the satisfaction

of its original sin.

“saturday selfie”by GR167 is licensed under CC PDM 1.0