I feel London in my soul

And Somalia in my spirit

But both don’t claim me

And so I feel forever unaccepted

I ask myself who I am and from where I’ve come

Because I don’t have firm roots to where I belong

They say “home is where the heart is”

But my heart, like a child, longs to be wanted

And it’s neither here nor there no matter the citizenship I’ve been granted

I am not British because I am not white

And I am not Somali because I did not stay

Because I do not speak fluently

When I stumble the Habaryars* snicker and ask my mother

“Does she not know how to speak her tongue”

And I smile tightly even when I feel stung

Because truly it does ring a chord

At times I feel like a mismatched bowl made from different clay

Various shades and colours in its fray

The lilt and speak of a Brit

Shouting “Hooyo”* at home because I am still Somali

I suppose I’ve found the answer to who I am as I write

I am Aisha and I have lived

I am who I choose to be, not just a country of origin or a simple adjective

So you may not accept me neither here nor there

But I know who I am

And so I forgive you without a care