My Culture

I'm a white, fifth generation Canadian.
I don't have a fucking culture.
So I'm sorry that I don't understand the severity of the topic
And I get uncomfortable when it is discussed
But I'm still a step one
You're protecting your people
Your way of life
Your heritage
I'm still finding out what those mean.

Wanna know my heritage?
My way of life?
Thousands of sad lonely people
Hoofing it across a block of ice
To find a patch of earth
That they could stamp their names on
And make a little patch of their old country
Or forget that their old country existed.

See the theme?
The OLD country
The place that came before
One way or another
MY culture
is built around every other one
It's the space between the walls
It's the frame of the photograph
It exists only because something else does.

So my culture is either a bastardization of yours
Or the rejection of it
And all those disgusting shades of non-existance in the middle

And all this rage is aimed at myself
Though it lashes out
I don't hate your culture
I'm not lusting over it either
I long to have what you have
Something to protect
Something that is part of who you are
Something that you are a part of

I don't understand
And I'm sorry