By Michelle Chen
05.16.2021
Through my bronze scars, I bleed
Red too despite being beat.
Even when I peer into the mirror,
Through my red tears,
I see a black, dripping ghoul.
Nothing but a crying, dumb fool.
I wear my blood soaked garment.
I don’t understand rent,
But we’re moving again.
Is this school number ten?
The dim lights allow me to only see
The cruel adult responsibility
Of work and pain.
No shower can wash the stain.
Somehow I’m poor,
But I make it through the golden door.
Only for me to lose breath;
Is this where I rest?
I run ahead with my fearful heart,
But I go nowhere but the start.
The golden spoon runs ahead.
How smart of them for getting out of bed.
They reach the blazing sun.
I’m too dumb.
I can’t keep up anymore.
I’m not them.
They’ve never had to run.
Run for their life.
Live like there’s no
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
Will.
Be.
Better.
Better.
Stop.
Crying.
If only I had bigger eyes,
Maybe I wouldn’t have to cry.
“Ching chong Chen”
“Fuck, you’re only ten”.
“I can’t love you”; “ you’re Chinese”,
“Will you say my name in that language please.”
“Is this the Chinese middle finger”
My thoughts stay there and linger.
I want to correct those brats.
I don’t eat dogs or rats.
And the Chinese finger is the thumb,
I know this because I’m not dumb.
“Dumb, you can’t be dumb! You’re
Asian! What a bore!”
How could they ever know?
This is my own boat to row.
My own kid to grow.
My own hopes to blow.
Even when I get stomped and beaten at school,
I’m forced alone against their rule.
My small legs can only carry
So much, before I grow wary.
The kids here were first adults.
Then they grow bold.
The adults here were first kids.
Then they grow old.
I want to write my own story
“I’m different” I lie.
It’s all my fault.
I
Can’t.
Stop.
Stop
Falling.
Falling
Only
Down.
Even when I do it all right
In my head, I still scream and fight
To prove that it wasn’t me.
This is not the place to be
A girl that hopes and dreams
And looks at others as a team.
May twenty-fifth;
They cry tears as if
An eternal curse
To ruin all and worse.
Praying for another son,
The crying infant is hid from the sun,
Because she’d want to touch it one day,
Before her youth decays.
One day her girlness will expire
And her womaness will not be desired.
Even when it’s not her
It’s her since she followed the lure.
Forever a servant and doll,
Must never complain through it all.
It’s better to be a good wife,
Then try to reclaim your own life.
Perpetually dumb and weak,
This is where her end meets
A man that she will one day pleasure
Even when she is beyond hurt.
This is her life and punishment,
A scar that will never mend.
Forever powerless to a son.
Run from here so he can’t hurt us anymore.
Nowhere.
To.
Go.
Go
Before.
He.
Wins.
Dreams are scarier than nightmares
And reality is even scarier.
Someone said one that someone’s dream
Is someone else’s reality.
Nightmares too.
I get drunk on regret.
Especially of things that haven’t happened yet.
Even with music and pills to drown it out,
I just want to cry.
To go home.
To be human.
To live, not just survive.
I wish it were true --what people said.
That it was just a bad day.
That kids don’t understand pain.
That I chose to feel this way.
Sometimes they do say partial truths too.
That it will always get better.
That love heals.
That time heals.
But no one will ever completely understand
Another’s story
Or even their own.
Asleep or awake,
Sometimes there’s a light
Somewhere distant in the Mist*.
The end of the tunnel is scary.
Will the sun on the other side melt my wax wings?
Even the glowing giant is scared.
The faint humming comes from a pulsing compass.
A muffled song.
A compass not seen, but heard.
Yet we wait for others to save us.
As if others know the way.
I’m a coward too
And yet a brave fool.
Somehow always one in a million.
I’m sorry.
Did I say too much?
It was just a bad day.
*Mist is a light reference to the song by Ateez called “Mist”*
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