POEMS
Asian Hair
My hair was neither straight or tangled,
never curly of voluminous,
never filled with life.
She was a girl with short blonde hair and pale skin,
and he just thought
she was so fucking beautiful.
Did I need to look as carefree as she did?
Absolutely.
A photograph was how I inspired myself
to take my mom’s office scissors and
chop off my own hair.
But no layers or waves happened,
just a bob and bangs
that my mom took me to a professional to get.
Yet, I always knew that
I would never be as lovely as her.
He would never call me beautiful.
Because my hair would never stop
Being dark brown and flat,
nor would I ever be able to change the fact
that I am not his type.
I am not white.
Yellow Skin
Yellow pressed next to white
Show that none of my genes
came from my mother or father.
White skin, I am starting to love you like a new best friend
I stand out in family photos,
I wouldn’t if only
I had white skin.
My middle school bully
would finally believe me when I said,
this family is real.
Yellow had become the worst color in the rainbow.
It reminded me of the sun,
something too blinding, too bright,
too harsh during the summer days.
The first yellow shirt my mom got me
when I was eight was too tacky.
This color is too much
to be borne at all,
too much for me to be born into.
I Will Fix You
The only problems I have come to mend
are those that are never my own.
My best friend of seventeen years,
needs me to be her outside opinion,
when she is in the midst of her arguments with boyfriend
that heavily exhaust me.
My best guy friend from sixth grade summer camp,
needed me to hold his hand as he cried
about the girl he loved
being in love with somebody else.
My issues and successes,
with or without,
someone who wants to love me,
were not significant enough
to bring into their lives.
I’m good at being their problem-solver.
Somebody Loves You
“Please tell her she is worthy of love,”
a mother would plead,
as she falls asleep at night.
A mother sees carelessness
in her daughter’s hazel eyes
and different colored skin,
skin that is barefaced,
covered in freckles,
smooth,
and gets red in the heat.
She wishes her daughter would stop
playing around with her looks.
A daughter begins to cry in her mother’s arms
hating herself
because the kids in her school don’t like her,
and a mother wants to fall apart.
A mother sees quirkiness, ambition,
and sensitivity all in this child.
Couldn’t anyone else see this too?
A mother begins to knock on the door,
even though her daughter has shut her out,
for being too annoying
yet the mother understands and waits
for a response that will never come.
But the mother has no fear,
because she knows her child will need her.
To the dear daughter of a mother,
your mother is hoping to herself:
“Please, don’t give up just yet.”