The questioning of who I am begins.
They see our culture as
Contrary
to my light skin.
Black is
an abnormality in the cleanliness of this new country.
But still they want it to be there,
so I fit into neat boxes of their identification.
And so I scratch at the skin I was given,
skin that is pale and seen as somehow purer,
but it doesn’t change to the colour I desire.
So they would know my ancestry, my roots to the old land.
A stark red appears instead—
Bloodborne,
as if to say:
Again, I will fail you.
Again, I will not fulfil you.
How can you tell me it’s what’s on the inside that counts when you, too,
judge on our colouring?
You must see that our
Culture
runs deeper than our
Skin.
I see my tiddas and I am in awe of their strength,
their pride.
I admire their ability to fight,
and how they see past my shade.
Cover image via Steve Evans/Wikimedia Commons
About the author
My name is Makayla and I am a proud Wiradjuri woman. I grew up on Wiradjuri country in Forbes and Cootamundra, NSW, and currently live on Ngunnawal country while at university studying psychology. I learnt of my Aboriginality when I was in late primary school; much of my poetry reflects this internal trauma of having my culture stripped from my family, and my process of re-learning culture. My Aboriginality shapes how I interact with country and community.