Imposter syndrome runs rife through my blood,
Passing for white with privilege - and loss;
Never knowing my place, I bear my cross -
Of my forefathers' sins, there are a flood.
Generational traumas through me bud,
The mark on my genes and mind they emboss;
Disability-tempest will me toss -
Mental-emotional clouds o'er me scud.
To heal these wounds within myself I must
Seek restorative justice, somewhere find
The means to overcome violent lust
Which in the past created my own kind;
Without healing there can be no real trust,
Every fate is with others' entwined.
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