When I was younger, I used to stare into my mirror
and see not the yellow of my skin
nor the slant of my eyes.
I used to see a cop
a robber
sometimes a Power Ranger or Pokemon trainer.

When I grew older, I was still blind to me
but they were not. They saw the yellow of my skin
and the slant of my eyes
the black of my hair
And for the first time.
So did I.

I heard the ching chang chongs
and wondered what it meant
and if it meant anything at all.

I learned years later that it meant nothing.
It held no translational meaning to those whom it may have applied
but to me
to them
it meant that I did not belong.
I would not belong.

When I was younger, but somehow older,
I was taught that I was different.
I was taught that I would never be the same
and to keep my head from being crushed by the
waves of their learned behaviors that I had to be the same
as everyone around me but I was taught that I was different.

And that it wasn't only skin deep.

-trj

He's special, they said.
I could taste the greed dripping from their teeth.
He's gifted, they said.
Their lust, suffocating.
He's talented, they said.
Hands on my shoulders, pushing and pulling.

You're special, she said.
Her pride comforting me.
You're gifted, she said.
Her love protecting me.
You're talented, she said.
Her arms around me, gentle and firm.

-trj

Dowsing shiver your hybrid morality until there stand no more alabaster temples on the hills of our nations. Erupt fantasy and realize fate. Find a lost camera and hang someone else's pictures all throughout your house.

The Golden Riddle of justice is a fishbone; it's arc bends eventually to the point that it slits your throat. Carbon fiber courage swallows blood though.