My People

My People

My people are not

The ones who have

A piece of shiny paper

Stamped with the word “citizen”

My people are

The ones who dye

Their hair vibrant colours

And swear far too much

My people are not

The ones who were

Born in the same

Vicinity as me

My people are

The ones who argue

For hours on the same side

And mix pizza and alcohol

My people are not

The ones who died

Hundreds of years ago

Who I never met

My people are

The ones who talk

In a secret language

They made up without meaning to

My people are not

The ones who have

The same name as mine

Or the same nose or lips

My people are

The ones who share

An affinity with me

By choice

My people are

The ones I look

At and say

Those are my kind of people