Foreigner

Tired of rules to obey.
Uncharted territory of a stranger.
Rebel! To hell with the stares,
Eyes following each move,
Tongues openly discussing every gesture.

A white crow, adapting to be black.
All I ask for is freedom -
Invisibility cloak that lets me do
What is in my nature.
Look and feel. Walk. Ponder.
Unhindered and not pestered.
I pay my dues - I speak the language,
And I know the town like the palm of my hand.
Have I not earned the right to be an insider?

Enough. I've gotten to the point
Where opinions and stares roll off of me
Like water off a goose.
Let them glare, comment, and whistle.
I shall not try to blend in -
Painting my feathers black
Will only make the paint run
With the first drops of rain.
I resign the role of a foreigner
Desperate to appear a local.
Let them stare, comment, judge.
It is a past-time that they will not forego.

I find my liberty in not caring.
My freedom is to be.
To cry in public. To dance on a street.
To sit on this ledge, feet hanging over the road,
Feeling the breeze and the stone,
Still warm after the day's heat.
Buses rumble underneath,
Pass, passengers not looking up
To see the soles of my shoes.
I am mischievously and blissfully unnoticed.

The clouds gather above,
Heavy layer on top of Santa Teresa.
It might start to rain.
In ceasing to struggle,
I find my peace,
And I wait for the first drops.