I’ve been asking myself one question, Over and over, like a song that won't leave my mind: What will I ever do for you to love me? I look at myself in the mirror, trying to find the mistakes that makes me unworthy in your eyes. Is it the colour of my skin that frightens you?  Is my melanin a weapon in your eyes? Would you love me if I peeled my Blackness off like old paint? Or would you love me if I peeled my whiteness off like an old poster? If I bleached my truth, erased my ancestry, Would I finally be welcome at your table, Or would I still be the ghost that haunts your comfort? But if I change my colour, the other side, might disown me. I would be a stranger in both worlds. Maybe it’s my name. Maybe it sounds wrong to your ears, Too sharp, too foreign, too full of a history you don’t understand. Must I change my name to "Peter" So the airport security lets me pass without a second glance? Must I speak your language so fluently That you forget to ask where I’m ...