#GloPoWriMo 10/30: The Fruit

He stares at me
intently. 
Studying my being. 
He knows
something is different. 
That I’m not like them.
That I’m not like him. 
He hears in my accent
that this 
is not my home.
To be surrounded
but be alone. 
Told that
I’m not African
enough. 
Not Black
enough. 
If it’s us versus them, 
I was sure
that I was us.
But I’m not. 
Not enough
for the exclusive. 
Our ancestors
could have been neighbors, 
and this ain’t neighborly. 
I am not the enemy. 
We
have much more in common.
Perhaps our differences
aren’t that different. 
The same tree 
planted elsewhere. 
We are 
similar fruit.

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