Somehow I’ve spent a whole week
Trying to figure out who I am. And
I’ve been living with myself for over twenty years, and
I’ve seen everyday my nose, feet, hands, and
I’ve heard my thoughts louder than anyone can, and
And yet I can’t seem to figure out who I am.
But identity crisis? No. That was so two years ago.
I’m just a bit incohesive.

I make myself inexcusably late (but excused by my chronic lateness),
Stuck deliberating between
My Pantone two eighty jeans or the two eight two blue
That might match a little better
With my one dollar belt, my eight year old coat, and my handmedown tee
So that people don’t see me
As a frumpy kid who’d be better off
If still dressed by her mom.
I don’t think it’s wrong to put in the effort without putting in the cash,
And besides, it’s not like I don’t have money to spend;
I just choose to treat myself
In moments shared by family and friends.

And before I leave, I glance in that silver coated glass.
Walk away. Return. Another quick glance.
A stranger looks at me
Through brown eyes, brown hair, brown
Skin, but really it’s more of a Pantone one sixty three.
I almost forgot I can’t be brown when there’s colorful people around.
I am so full of muted colors and triumphs
from the past
That I am lost searching for me in the present.
And though my Jewish heritage runs coarse through my blood,
Thick blood like that of the Paschal lamb that is now our mezuzah,
I don’t believe in that stuff.
And though my body is defined by being female,
I either hate it or don’t recognize it.
And though my Mexican heritage flows rich on my skin,
It only shines in the sun in the summer.
The equatorial sun has kissed my blood
But European skies suck out all the fun.
Now my darkest shades come from
The spots on my face, my neck and back dotted,
But I’m the one who put them there.
Just like I’m the one responsible for the bits
That don’t rest nicely on my stomach or my hips.

I’ve peeled back that fleshy pink layer
To examine my mind. I am
A floating consciousness: black and white, cartoon-drawn,
Just a brain and a spinal cord encased in an
Invisible vessel. To the world I am not colorless,
But I wish it were blind to me.
Here, I have no shape or form; I’m either all in power
Or all entropic. But to be who I am, I have full control
Over behavior, traits, the things that make me a whole
Person. What to think. How to speak. Who to be.
My senses are intrinsic to me.
For all I know, you and I could have a different green
Where you, dear reader, see Pantone three six two
But I a three fourteen.

I create and build, crunch numbers ‘cause I can.
I’m proud to present as a woman in STEM.
Ideas bounce around my head, but no structure to my thought,
So how can I build bridges
When I can’t even build a sentence of prose?
Who knows? Maybe by the end of this
I’ll find there’s nothing I can do.
I’ve the EM spectrum in me, but you only see visible light.
My rainbow may be quenched, but
There’s more to seeing than sight.
I’ve spent the week trying to figure me out;
I just had to close my eyes.