The Perfect Creole

You can tell me
That I am pale as a sheet,
Try to glare until my skin catches fire,
But you can't change history.

My ancestors were a mixture,
The perfect creole
That spans two continents,
Bridges gaps
Most wouldn't dare attempt.

We are mediators,
The go-betweens,
That once held this country together.
We are the glue
That connects two nations,
Interwoven
Among willing and unwilling participants,
In the rise and fall of civilizations,
The creation and destruction of ways of life.

We are unpopular,
Loved and hated by all
Without pause,
But still necessary.

You may not want to believe
In who I claim to be,
I could look like my European ancestors
Or Cree,
But I would still be
What I have always been,
A mixed-blood,
A Métis.