Whenever you’re about to tell me That I consist of two halves Please tell me also What exactly makes me not two wholes in your opinion. Psychology is wasted on me. I count in every language I can speak Dependent on my mood I curse in both Because at times, a certain phrase sounds more on point And I dream in no language at all But in silent pictures And music My dinners shift somewhere between potatoes and apricot dumplings (mostly, it’s fake Chinese) Whenever you’re about to tell me That I’m either one thing or the other, Please remember That mosaics have to consist of at least two separate colours in order to be seen. The shots fired at one ancestor for being the enemy Hold the same sound to my ears like the ones that murdered the other for speaking his mind My mother taught me To be upright and a person of integrity And my father taught me To be strong and a person of eloquence Tell me instead, how are those two completely different things Other than being taught from two perspectives instead of one? And why can’t I be both? I am more than ripped old passports and splinters of past biographies. I am a person living in the now That challenges you to think outside of the box You fabricated with your own hands, Because I can tell stories that take place in two worlds With a single mouth and a single heart, Because my grandfather’s nightmares are just as much part of me As my grandmother’s dough on her daughter-in-law’s fingers, In short, whenever you’re about to tell me That my identity is not valid, Please, my love, Swallow your words.
Sophie Fritschek is a German-based university student who lives in a quiet suburb and occasionally stays up late to write unfinished novels.