Shame on you, oh child of three lands,
With pride so high, like shifting sands.
You speak of places far and wide,
But hide your heart, so full of pride.
You claim the world is yours to own,
Yet arrogance has grown and grown.
Repent, for you are not above,
Come down, and learn the way of love.
Your culture's not a crown to wear,
But something deeper, if you dare.
Apologize for looking down,
For every heart in life's a crown.
Shame on you, with eyes so blind,
True wealth is found in being kind.
----
Between worlds we wander, we third-culture kin,
Missionary, military, all of us spin.
From lands far away, we have learned to belong,
In cultures so different, yet never felt wrong.
We speak with the tongues of places we've seen,
In cities and villages where we have been.
We've danced to their rhythms, breathed in their air,
But coming back "home" feels strange and unfair.
America greets us with its bright, loud hue,
Yet something is off, something we knew.
The slang, the fashion, the jokes that they share—
They laugh, but we stand in confused, quiet stare.
They don't understand how we grew up apart,
The pieces we carry stitched into our heart.
Our histories tangled, not easy to tell,
From faraway homes we've loved far too well.
We smile and we nod, but still feel the strain,
Like tourists in crowds who can't quite explain.
The foods that we miss, the sights that we crave,
Live on in our minds, like waves after waves.
We long for a space where we fit in-between,
A blend of the old and the new, yet unseen.
But while we adjust, we'll carry with pride,
The cultures we hold, deep down inside.
So though we are awkward, and though we seem lost,
We'll find our own way, no matter the cost.
For we are the bridge, the voices that blend,
Between worlds, forever, we'll always transcend.
They say we're arrogant, distant, aloof,
As if our stories are mere bragging proof.
"Who cares where you've been? This is here, this is now!"
But we stumble on norms we don't know quite how.
We talk of the places we've lived overseas,
Of customs and foods, of languages' ease.
Yet to them, it sounds like we're placing ourselves
Above their small towns and familiar shelves.
But we're not trying to boast or to show,
We're just sharing the world we've come to know.
It's hard to explain that we're out of sync,
Not arrogant—just caught on the brink.
It's true, some third-culture kids hold their heads high,
Believing they've seen more, flown farther, touched sky.
They've walked in the world, crossed borders with ease,
And sometimes, yes, they think they're hard to appease.
They speak multiple tongues, blend customs like art,
And feel set apart with their globalized heart.
In classrooms or towns where others don't roam,
They may wear their travels like badges of home.
But superiority's a mask that they wear,
To hide the confusion and feeling laid bare.
Beneath it all, they're just trying to find
A place to belong with peace of mind (we hope)
