In my grandmother's clothes and in my skin featuring Ronita Mookerji

Is this what an identity crisis looks like.
All this heavy reflecting
And contorting before mirrors.

Glamorous and grotesque at once
Twisting this a ways and that a ways
To find a face I recognise.
To find a face I like.

The displacement of my ancestors
still a beating heart.
While my clawed limbs grow feathers
Awkward ungainly things
That will one day will learn to fly.