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Hiding from other children Once a precious treasure Glistening dumplings Seafood soups Marinated meats Tempt breaks my heart, As we are forced to part. I abandon myself.
Steam pours from thin shoulders Dimly lit, white tile reflecting moonlight Beams hit my skin Slowly, ever so gentle, Revealing to me a world both unknown and a truth that scalds
Almond Eyes, searching for a piece of herself, in a round-eyed town. Her identity uncertain,
I am an American citizen Born and raised a southwestern Virginian A member of the USA's dominion Yet people are still of the opinion
They say my people are descendants from a dragon and a fairy who gave birth to 100 children who later became known as the Vietnamese people. My origins are a reflection of my ancestors.
underneath my skin exists 60,000 miles of blood vessels 206 bones a pair
Armies of men fall at the feet of Beauty, and we're taught that women are weak. Men watch their brothers transform into monsters, and we're taught that real men don't cry.
History Changed But Fate Stayed the Same The world can be cruel sometimes, But bare with me, it’s true
Her Paper VoiceBy: Sophia Huynh
ABCs I remember when I first learned my ABCs. A stands for apple B stands for bird
when is it my body? when you’re reaping the color of my skin reducing my culture into a category that only accepts squinty eyes and figures so thin
I am of a white sun against a blue sky, and a blue star against a white expanse. My body is a legacy that spans centuries, continents, cultures, and creeds, sustained by lo mein and latkes alike.
I was having lunch with a friend, Cheese pizza, Mountain Dew, and fries. A group of guys sitting nearby, Were laughing aloud at the school cafeteria. One of them approaches and sitting next to me He says,
I’m an American, through and through, but an American with a hyphen too. An ode to my culture, customs, and ethnic ties, yet critics say my hyphen divides, causes racial tension,
master and slave, alike moon and tide, seven lunar orbs, dance in night in tandem with waves, enamoring all earthly gods and taming evil spirits.
like how the oceans envelops island shores, how the stars are placed like mosaic tiles by mountain tops, like how the sun rises again every morning,
santan flowers border all around my household, like gargoyles protecting a home, sharp red petals acting as thorns for evil spirits.
Google Translate ‘yaya’ from Filipino to English: governess, nurse, maid (show less translations) i cannot remember the first day i met you,
For a very long time I looked down on myself for pursuing my dreams instead of the wealth My brother, an engineer My sister, a nurse And I... I am... not the lawyer you wanted to see
Little eyes, Asian eyes I didn't know the window to my soul Told such lies Not on the whole These eyes of mine are small Yes, but that's not me Assumptions from all On who I must be
At Last Once upon a time There lived an average girl. She was Asian and American. She excelled in high school, And didn’t care for school. She made them proud, her parents.
America, The Beautiful? Home of the enslaved, Where those who are brave, Are said to have no brain, Where freedom of speech is limited,
Yeo boh say yo? I say into the phone, Quickly and quietly But still the room grows silent and I wonder
Part I The very inspiration began on a seventh day Of the eight month of the year 2013 AD A class by a master on translations Triggering him to reveal a historic place Unknown much, a place so great
We make your shiny TVs and your shiny phones. We make your pretty shoes and stitch your pretty clothes. You pick and choose what pieces of our cultures you adopt And you sneer at what you don't understand
A Banana The names they called me When I acted white Even though I’m Asian Haha The sound I made When I remembered That I’m ¼ White anyways Hapa Not quite the right mix
Fob! “Fresh off the boat!”,
Honor unto death,
I am good enough,
Do you eat dog,
Do you know Kung-Fu?
Hey, do you eat dog?!
Chink, Jap, slanted eyes, Asian-American life,
Asian shame painful, generational patterns,
Words unsaid at home,
Not getting straight A’s,
Yellow on the Outside,
One-on-one, or two?, A group with a few?,
It’s frustrating, immigrant parents,
I don’t quite fit in,
Fu Manchu, a caricature,
I'm yellow, you're white,
Me As I pose for that picture
Bleached hair, sleeveless shirt,legs covered with a not-long-enough skirt.She’s bad, that girl.Rotten to core.You don’t have to get to know her,just look at what she wore
I never meant to use a filter I didn’t think I did. Look at me and tell me what you see
Little, little Asian nymph splayed across her bed.
I go to school, isn't it obvious? Sixteen year old girl with a backpack, It's pretty clear to see. I go to classes, then lunch, then class again, Hop the bus, go home, do homework go to bed.
If you really knew me you would know that I look at people the way you read a book. If you really knew me you'd see the way I tense up when
I think of when I was kid young and naive. Ousted by my own friend who left me for sports and the other who left for Arkansas. I remember the gravel I used to sit on
What would you change? What would I change? I'd chage the way peole think, Get rid of the unnceccasary judgement. Who needs that? Certainy not we. We have the power to learn,
If I could change the world, I would abolish prejudice; Or the bumpy past, That created it. No race more superior, No size more supreme. Only happiness, And positivity gleamed.
Once, a boy goaded on by his friends yelled “BORDERHOPPER” in my face. (I must have a very large stride, then, to have hopped the Pacific Ocean.) To be fair, it was middle school.
No father mother here but really there I am here but really where? nature or really nurture?
I'm tired of these fucking stereotypes dictating how I feel and act I shouldn't like English I should be petite and quiet I should study, study, study Well I fucking done finito, over it
I finally realized to open my eyes just to find myself blinded by the minds of the stereotypical I never dreamed of a scheme such that I would believe to achieve
I once had a spirit, That would cry, Livid. A soundless screamer, A sleepless dreamer. A cowardly warrior, A body-less barrier. A sharp taste of rum, A native tongue. When the soul spoke,
I live not for orange chicken, nor Miss Saigon-style hats.
Who’d know the color of my skin presents so much ambiguity in society? A different angle in the light of the city What am I today? For the historic family trees of America remain hallow at my name.