I am told that I’m a WASP
And, yes, I’m those four things.
But I am so much more,
And thank God I’ve got wings.
I thought a WASP was rich,
A male who wore Gray Flannel suits.
My mother told me never mind
Ancestral portraits graced our walls.
That’s all it took, she said,
And silver spoons with monograms
Not in our mouths
But in a silver chest.
So then I’m a Southern WASP.
Sent to a privileged all girls school
I quickly learned how money talks
Not in my mother’s tongue.
Oh me, where do I fit?
I’ll strike out on my own.
To mine the riches in this world
That can’t be sold or bought.
To delve inside myself
To find the single spark
Of fire that gives me life
And shines on in the dark.
A heart of love, song of faith
And anger deep and true
To penetrate the labels cruel
Which separate me from you.
poetrybyheart.me 