What are you, they ask with their eyes
and — the bolder — with their mouths:
Egyptian? Spanish? Mexican? Italian?
I smile and nod, accepting the lies
gleefully: becoming a kaleidoscope
of identities
hiding my name because it is
a giveaway, taking on
personas as an explorer
digests landscapes
hungrily, wondering
which one will ink
like a tattoo and
which slough off
like snake
skin
They narrow their gaze
furrow their brows
in confusion
in a desperate need to understand
where I stand
amidst my friends, my lovers,
my chosen family
It’s so hard, they complain,
I never know who’s who
anymore
I smile
I nod
I’m me, I’d like to respond,
but don’t
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