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Jasmine Annie Poem
Being in the mix of being Mixed
It's confusing, yet warm and cozy—like being lost is almost easier than being brown.
The choosing of which path to take—sometimes, I find it simpler to remain lost, avoiding the question of who might find me.
Sitting on the fence, being mixed is the truth I carry. The quiet indulgence in the in-between. Nobody knows for sure who from where.
I watch the journey pass—each exit, each departure, some people get off, others sometimes onto.
A glimpse of all—the beauty in both, yet never feeling whole with either.
So I linger where I know best, along for the ride,
never reaching any destination, just drifting in the unknown.
I used to search to be the best at both, master of each side,
but now I simply understand—
for me, being mixed is the in-between,
neither here nor there,
but forever caught in the space between.
Copyright © Jasmine Annie | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Jasmine Annie Poem
As I walk through the light of hope,
the trees stretch over me, folding in—
as if they want to hug me with the full force of the wind.
I feel all the baggage I’ve carried being swept away.
I fall, and the world pauses—
everything is muted.
I let myself drift,
not stopping, just floating,
letting the earth pull and take control.
I land evenly, face first.
The smell and taste ignite every sense—
familiar, almost.
I stand up, covered in dirt from head to toe.
My hair is full of twigs and sticks,
but I can’t help rubbing it in,
feeling oddly clean and protected—
like I’ve been reborn.
I want to wear this dirt with pride.
Finally, I understand:
to have hope,
you must not be afraid to face the dirt beneath—
face your fears, own them,
wear them like armor.
And then you will see the light at the end—
ready to reward you,
if you’re brave enough to fall and rise again.
Copyright © Jasmine Annie | Year Posted 2025
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