Multitude

I’ve reached a place

Where the question —

“But where are you really from?” —

No longer phases

My third culture brain.

I have had my answer prepped

Since I was twenty-seven;

I’m the girl

Who grew up emo

But came to love pink.

The one who worships

The Sudanese sun,

Sentences started

in English,

finished in Arabic.

Starting  my morning

With a prayer,

Followed by a playlist of

Omar Suliman,

Eman  El Sharif,

Linkin Park,

And ending with Taylor Swift.

Tea fills my veins —

From both sides.

My mother tongue is Arabic,

But my memories

Are soaked in Irish rain.

So no, my friend —

I can’t “ just pick one.”

And if you have to ask

That question

You do not deserve

The privilege

Of knowing

The multitude that is my world.

You can go sit

In your

One-world view.