The Epitome of Imperfect Perfection
The name of my people is "Hmong"
and we are self-dubbed "The Free" -
whatever that means.
But contrary to the lies,
the stereotyps,
and the idealized,
I have big brown eyes
that shine brighter any color of the sky.
Because I am proud
and I wear my race on my tan skin
that I don't have to achieve by soaking up the sun.
I work hard,
picking up shards of my heart,
trying to outsmart those
whose noses are too high.
Sometimes I lose myself;
my head gets too big -
full of ideas.
But I find myself again,
and I fight for myself
and my people,
but there will be no sequel.
The ending of the book called "My Life"
will be the death of me,
but even still,
I will not bow down
and drown
in the sea of standards
set by the supremacy.
I am my own,
and flawless at that.
I don't need to hear lies
to move on with life.
It is not me who is flawed,
but the metality of those who seek blood.