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.