I carve myself out of a cardboard cutout,
I wish I wasn't empty,
stuck between two worlds that do not want me.
I am like the globe,
shattered.
Rushing blood gurgles through my veins to my head, my
words sound like Russian out my hot mouth
"so spicy"
they say it cause I'm foreign to them.
My blood pressure rises,
makes
the tea kettle screams,
on the perfect pictured home oven,
i am fuming.
I look out at the white picket fence,
raised oppressed gates,
overtaxed, overcharged, overfed, rising still.
The fury builds inside me,
I stomp the fence,
break the oven,
crash the globe,
and weep at the crap I was made out of.
we will never win.
but, it doesn't matter if we're the minority or majority,
the darker you are,
the faster you talk,
the farther away from the home land
...
they'll still give you the gun.
But, they'll blame you for everything that happens after.
A comment on American societies mental illness, health crisis, racial racism/stereotyping, gun laws, my own identity as a first generation american from immigrant parents, and how chaotic, hopeless, and dissociated I feel about my own self. How apart I feel from America's "dream" and what America really is today... thank you for reading.
