Scorpion Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

I am told of my ancestors,
They saw a curled scorpion almost frozen dead.
They took the creature out of mercy and compassion.
They left the poor thing in a warm pocket.
Happy of a good deed they went ahead.
“Ouch…” one of them cried and said.
“I am bitten and poisoned by the scorpion.”

I am a hybrid; half Aryan and half Seyed.
Lost in identity I feel John Welch.
Loney-like I may have to choose
A mythic death or a life to lose,
Losing what I never learned:

What is it?