i used to hate the sight of my rough, imperfect skin
the sight of my dry, bleached hair
and my reflection in the mirror of when i woke up in the morning

but now, i run my hands over my still imperfect skin
its texture resembles the earth
and i am perfectly fine with that
for the marks, footprints and scars that mark the earth reveal a journey
a life worth so much more that unstained glass porcelain

my dry, unwashed hair?
that is a result of late nights inside of my head
sitting at my desk and letting my thoughts run wild
letting my ideas run through my head seamlessly,
as if time was chasing them through a deep, dark forest that was the night

past the surface of the skin
lays thoughts, passions and ideas
to push through the surface that is skin and body
to see the wonders that uncover themselves inside
for it’s a magical place, the mind

walking through a dark blue landscape
mist unfurling from behind the clouds like thin wisps of smoke
and all is silent
the mountains are asleep
and creatures that hide in the shrubbery are still
it’s a lovely summer day to go on a walk
alone,
through a blue kind of nowhere

i hear the sound of my relatives speaking
in the loud, expressive way that i am now used to hearing
i understand every word they say
but they cannot understand the language that i speak

they love me through
envelopes full of money-angpao as they say
and tables full of food
mom says that they are family
so that automatically means
that i should love them
do i?
i’m in the process of finding out

while distance might be one thing that separates me and my family
the barrier that i can’t break
no matter how strong i punch and kick
is language

no amount of “things” they give me
or hugs i give them
will be able to solve
the difference that is our words