I hate my mom for her cruelty.
She hates me for being Lumbee.
She's so white, when she goes outside she turns red,
Because of her, I can't wear a shirt saying "Lumbee Born, Lumbee Bred".
In summer, I tan. She calls us her black children,
during the winter, I get fat, she says I look like a hen.
If I get in trouble or get a B,
She says it's the Rob. Co. coming out in me.
I'm proud of being a Lumbee,
My grandparents are proud of me.
They've loved me and raised me since I came out.
They'll love and support me after I leave the house.
But secretly, I think Ariel's counting the hours till I leave.
Over the smallest thing, she makes a fuss,
She can cuss the yellow of a school bus.
She's stupid and needs to grow up,
She's as mature as a plastic cup.
And really, besides her, I'm just like you,
I enjoy barbecue.
I go to Homecoming,
I'm probably a cousin of the Cummings.
I say this to put her in her place,
I love my race, I don't care what she says.
I'm Lumbee Born, Lumbee Bred, when I die, I'll be Lumbee dead.
The End.
Becky Locklear
Lumbee, Middle School
Poem