Is it the colour of my skin?
Is it my God or my kin?
Is it the reckless way I spin?
Is it the old school tie I can’t get in?
Is it my accent or my presence?
Is it my words, my voice, my essence?
Is it my vowels, foul and abrupt?
Is it my views that coax your disgust?
Is it the nation from which I hail?
Is it the gender I refuse - neither female, neither male?
Is it the non-conforming dress I wear?
Is it the way I passed you on the stairs?
Is it down to your hereditary or heraldry?
Is it your arrogance or your ancestry?
Is it your self-proclaimed pure blood line?
Is it down to your genes and their dubious designs?
Is it simply the cut of my jib?
Is it simply the line of my hair?
Is it simply you don’t stop to think?
Is it simply you don’t need to care?
What first do you see through your ignorant eyes,
To cause you to judge, to discriminate, to generalise?
Is it I?