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Jamie Jun 3
He walks slowly
As if he is about to pounce?
His lips move as if

Words should be

Pouring

Out

But no sound
Comes out

They say he's a Freak but
No one dares to say “hi”
They just cross the street
With cautious eyes.
His hair is greasy, dark, and thick
And his clothes seem to swallow him whole

No one has ever heard him speak
But he carries a notebook-
Its worn as if
its lived too many lives
No one questions what could be in it

But

If they opened the book
Did not cross the street
They would read of his service in the marines
Say “hello” for the first time
When they eventually close the book


They would understand.
Anya Sep 2018
When you look at me
You instantly stereotype
My glassses
My skin color
You can probably guess I’m book smart
You’d be right
You can guess I’m introverted
You’d be semi right
You can guess I’m not naturally very athletic
You’d be right
You can guess my ethnicity
You’d probably be right
You can guess a lot of things
And there’s a high chance you’d be right for many of them

But...

What about those things,
You’d never guess?
I bet you’d never believe I was a Goalie
You probably don’t know I write poetry
I’m learning Chinese
I ran six miles in fifth grade
I enjoy acting
I’m an atheist
I have a mild obsession with Asian light novels
The list goes on...

But still,
The point here is
There’s a lot of things you don’t see

About me

About everyone

I’m just as guilty of judging as anyone else
We humans tend to categorize,
A lot
...
But,
It’s
Often
Not
True
From the perspective of an American girl whose parents are from India.

— The End —