When I was struggling with my Haitian identity, I went to a Haitian pageant and was given a sense of pride in my culture. I wrote this poem afterwards:

Two halves of one whole.

Just as the ying and yang, these two parts inseparable.

Impossible for one to be without the other or the there will be a collapse of order.

I am Haitian and Jamaican, and the world has taught me that these two nationalities can never agree.

That hate was the only decree.

But my parents responded to this hate and through their union made an act of love, me.

This should have been enough to quench my soul, but the world told me when I was not very old that Haiti was nothing.

Jamaica had gained its place in society but Haiti remained poor, desolate and forever in need.

Surely this could not be a part of me! So I fought it. I wrestled with my Haitian blood as Jacob named Israel wrestled with God through the night.

When I found it could not be defeated, I shamed it till a war was no longer needed and I was at peace. Or so I thought.

See my Haitian blood was just one part of my grievances, next was Haitian beauty.

Unknowingly, the one who would remove this from me was my blood, my kin, my sister.

She had hair like my Jamaican mother, curly and beautiful that could not compare to what she called my "nappy hair".

My hair did not curl, and it could not be sleeked down. And she never went a day without reminding me.

Of course she did not intentionally try to destroy me but words break bones more than sticks and stones and with that word, nappy, she placed a boulder, an obstacle in my way which could not be removed. Haitians could not be beautiful.

This is what I thought because I had what she called "Haitian" hair and if my hair looked like this, then my people could not be beautiful either.

So there I was stuck in the prison of my mind, passing the time by telling myself I was not beautiful, not smart and had no culture or people to be proud of.

Stuck in the recesses of my mind, I entered that oh so infamous mental slavery that plagued me.

Its grip tighter than a python with its prey, it chocked my life and light and left me in utter darkness.

Who was I and what could I be? Surely being Haitian was not for me.

And I sat there for years in the abyss of my soul.

But then I heard it. A sound, faint but strong of a drum, a chant, the song of a people planning a revolution.

They called on God to be their guide as they would reclaim their pride and unshackle the chains that slavery had put them in.

They grew louder and as they neared, they called out to me and told me that I could be free.

Freedom? Was it true?

And then there was a cry from the great Dessalines, "We dared to be free; dare to be so by and for ourselves...take the vow to live free and independent."

And with this decree, I was finally free!! I took back power from the bottomless pit and broke every chain and escaped the place which had kept me a prisoner for so long. Like Joshua at Jericho, I had those walls come down, never to be built again

Because with his breath Dessalines declared Ayiti free, a people that I could celebrate because she demanded what no Black nation on this earth could replicate!

Freedom! Pour le pays, pour les ancêtres. Marchons unis! Marchons unis!

I reclaimed the souls of the ancestors who had never abandoned me, who built a country where all could be free.

So no longer am I ashamed of the blue and red blood that runs inside my veins because I am beautiful, I am intelligent, I am special, I am free. I am Haiti(an). Thank you.