I'm Waiting for Myself

Sat, 12/28/2013 - 19:40 -- sheenie



Where do the days go

When a mind smooths itself above

The rippling bubble

Aimlessly resting

Unaware of the big pop.

Where will the days go?



Hair gathers on the slick linoleum

Clings to the soles of my shoes

Tickles the sides of my neck.

Another year another hairstyle

New shoes

New skin

New cynicism

New hope



A child of “where are you really from?”

Of hasty fragmented Cantonese communications

Obligatory smiles towards unfamiliar blood

Of three years living among the edges of similar faces

And fifteen years among rain and evergreens.

A child who calls America home.


There is a particular addiction

To the runway aesthetic

An infatuation for the power of expression.

Through fabric, colors and shapes

Leather soles, tailored seams.

The power of an image, a silhouette.

That particular addiction.


A perpetual state of reinvention, change, new beginning.

An American teenager who has

Experienced a couple things

(I’m waiting)

Laid in bed for a whole day

Watching movies and indulging myself on

Assortments of Cheez-Its and seaweed crackers.

I’m still confused

(waiting for some epiphany to pop.)

Sometimes I ask myself who I am as an American

As a Chinese American

As a fetishized, silent, timid, foreign, mystified caricature

A girl in a world of labels

So I record and write and type and blog  

Sometimes fantasizing about drowning in beautiful furs and fabrics…

(I’m waiting to become)

A perpetual state of reinvention, change, new beginning. 


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