Born in the east raised by the west
Torn in between cultural dressings
Both may feel right, but neither feels whole
Mother I’m torn between two different homes

Land filled with pears, and apricot hues
The lands filled with mangoes and papayas blooming
Each land of woman filled with rich story
Mother I’m stuck between two different mornings

And how dissonant are each of these bridges
And how resonant are each of these feelings though
If neither feels right and neither feels wrong
Mother my children will speak in different tongues

Mother I’m shy I can’t speak your tongue
Mother don’t cry I’ve been trying again
Trying to be bold as you were before me
I’m leaving the west I’m going alone