I’m from the east coast
Of that continent in the north 
The section in the middle -
That coast. 
The beach is an hour drive away, at least 
The one I like to go to

My mother grew up on this coast until 
She grew up on the little island 
The one that’s ‘a part’ of this country in this continent but the people are
Misloved. She loved 
It shares an ocean with another island, well,
A segregated island, yeah
My dad is from that Republic 

But me, I was born on this coast, the middle section of this northern continent - but not too north no, just right in the middle.
Born and bred in this small area of a big country I still find disconnect between my feet and   the ground 
probably because it isn’t my land. 
So I turn to the islands and I find bits and pieces of what I can consider mine but, 
truthfully, I don't know them well enough to find all of me

I don't understand the current’s language 
I don’t know the smell of their grasses 
I worry that if I were to dive head first into our/their ocean I’d get caught in a riptide
Or maybe that is what I wish for. 
I know their food as it was translated to me through my grandparents’ hands 
But I do not know the chicken my mother killed in her yard or the avocado tree she still talks about.

Halfway across the world is another big continent where I’m told I can find what’s mine, 
Apparently, my roots are there. Yes, apparently,
the Republic is from the west side of that continent 
and the other island…well I’m actually not sure. 

Today I find myself completely across the world 
on the bottom of the east coast.
This time, its the east coast of that big continent in the south
The one that is also a country the
one that also speaks this particular language,
my "sista" from anotha “Mista/masta”
The one also unjust in its sovereignty just like 
the big one in the north. 

I often find myself on coasts
With beaches just an hour or so away 
So that I can look out into the water and dream of swimming home
So I can retreat inland in fear of the riptides
Oh yes, I am from The Coast.