Hands out and open,
How much of me do I have to give?
What of the life that I have lived,
I’m condensed to the stamps in my passport,
Frowned upon or smiled at,
From the pot luck of where my mother sat,
When she gave me life.
Make a good impression,
Staring at the gun in the guard’s belt.
What was that persona that i’m supposed to have felt,
Passing through a land between lands,
A walk between governance,
Eyes glint for the new land,
A new flag flying proud,
A new culture abound,
Exploring like a child.