Oreo rolled in Cinnamon

Black yet clothed in the rites and passages of another kind

perfumed in being either too much or too little

suburban never knowing the ways of basketball

or a skewed cadence

Urban loving Kanye, yet despising black media's

cowardice with a lack of black champions

instead rolling film after film of our demise

cinnamon,

the taste of spice dancing on my tounge

Tejano melodies are the backdrop of my growth

Quien eres?

I have no idea

Black with a connection less than the coco-butter rubbed into my skin