My identity moves like the mercury in a thermometer

When it’s hot I take a layer off
When it’s cold, I put more on to protect me from
The onslaught of questions that usually start
“So, where are you from?”

My identity was born between seasons
North and South
East and West
The meridians forming crossword puzzles
Across my birth.

My identity takes me around the world
In a time machine
I travel between my past and future
With a few stops in between
With neither passport giving me the freedom
Or comfort of being
In the present.

I crave to be seen
Because right now
The race
That shows on my face
Blurs the real colour of me
And I know we all dream of a colour less world
But I don’t want to be invisible,