Your parents came to this country 

leaving a world of hell behind.

They folded up their dreams into a package, and sent it with themselves inside,

to a new world.

They brought you here to show you means what it means to be alive.

Their endeavors become a map, a map of your world today.

You envy your other friends for following a different path.

They enjoy red meat and beer.

But you enjoy lentil soup and buttermilk.

Your elders forceffed culture down your throat with a side of tradition and their mother toungue.

Every night you sleep, you wonder how much pain you are willing to endure.

What’s on the outside, mitchmatches what is in your heart.

”I want to be a painter, a musician, a person whose emotions dictate the art in the heart of their work”

But no, it’s only, doctor, lawyer, or well respected businessman.

Nothing you want resonates with anyone’s expectations of who you want to be.

You’re SCREAMING for a way out of a system who has ripped you of your dignity and stripped you of your passion.

You are an empty museum, and the artifacts were what makes you, you.

You look in the mirror, and see a person who just doesn’t want to live, a person despite their best efforts, has become completely uninvolved in their own life.

somedays you don’t even want to live. You sit on the edge on the bathtub with a knife to your wrist.

But the choice is yours.

This poem is about: 
My family
My community


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