Complications starkly
stand before the
rising tides of illusions.
Perfect sunsets slip beneath
the apex of
my dreams.
Darkened now, we grow restless.

Carry my weight in your
heart. The load is yours
to manage.
Quiet shadows lurking
remind us we know
no truth.
Hopeful gestures, yearning.

Let me go
pursue with grace
what little strand
of dignity
creating forward motion
I wait.
The next blow is sure to **** me.

Icy heat and
knotted organs
sloshing slowly towards
the fall.
Trains with human rhythm
beget nothing but
wounded wisdom.
Repeat.

"What are you?" he asks. "I mean what are you mixed with?"

He does not mean for the question to be rude. He has never seen someone quite like me, and the question has been bouncing around in his head for at least 2 minutes. So he blurts it out.

"Jamaican, Chinese, and White," I tell the stranger. I smile politely and attempt to mask my discomfort.

He only looks more intrigued. He thinks I am odd, oddly beautiful. Like a rare bird he has found. Not a bird one would ever keep. Just something to look at in awe.

"What are you?" the test paper asks, though in a more formal way. "Please bubble your ethnicity." I hesitate. I think about bubbling 3 different races, but I just end up filling in the bubble that says "other".

"What are you?" I ask my mirror. "Are you a freak? Why don't you look like everyone else? Why do they stare at you?"

"You are not pretty," i tell my reflection. "You are just different. The kind of different that no one likes. The kind of different that scares and intimidates people."

My reflection pauses for a moment. She smiles with kind eyes, forgiving my insult.

"You are everything," she tells me. "You are the sun, the moon and everything in between. You are a scorching hot fire, yet you are cold spring water. You are good and bad. You are you and I am, too. But most of all, you are human. Just like anyone else.

So I am a mutt
And this is my poem about having split identities
And not knowing who the **** I am
I am Chinese and Irish
Got them green eyes, but eat rice with every dish
Have the freckles, but my first language wasn't English

Back in high school, people called me white washed
But then,
Pointed and called me that Asian
People would sneer, "You aren't even real Chinese"
But there are so many things you all don't see
Like how my Tiger mom screams at home
About getting straight As
Till her shrills leave me frozen to the bone
And when I had a boyfriend she didn't approve of
She yanked my hair
And I cried it wasn't fair
She yelled, "oh I'll give the boys something to stare"
I watched as she cut all of it off
Strand by strand
Like a strong gust of wind blowing all the leaves off the branches till it was bare in winter
The following day at school, my excuse was I needed a new look, so this was her
And meals I don't even know how to translate into English are my comfort food
But I can down some fries and burgers when I'm with the dudes

I embrace both sides of what I am
But people categorize me into one, *******
With my Chinese family
They straight up tell you
You too skinny, too fat, so silly
They say my accent has gotten worse
The anger builds up of embarrassment and hurt
The race makes my face so red, it's like my head will soon burst
There's this underlying feeling of shame, that's the worst
Which side of me do I need to prioritize first?
I'm drowning between the ocean of two separate cultures, I'm submersed
English is the language I think in and I curse
There's so much more I can't even tell you within this verse

Oh the irony doesn't end there
My driving stereotypes are quite the scare
Cause I'm Chinese, automatically I **** at driving
But mixed with Irish, I'm also road raging
It's probably the worst combination
Of a stereotype from two different nations
Ha oh there's more
The drinking stereotype that's for sure
Irish side could down the whiskey much too quickly
But the Chinese typically are easily tipsy
This mix is kind of risky
One turns so incredibly red
And the other can get so drunk, you'd see two heads

I feel I am constantly at war
One side always wanting more

"paint on wood
paper on paint on wood
ink on paper on paint on wood
pen in hand on paper on paint on wood," she mumbled.
"like your emotions," i said. "all those crazy prepositions mixed with random nouns."

They once told me light is the fastes thing to travel, but why then is the darkness there always firts?


The darkness was overwhelming, it blinded me.
It was the only thing around me.
And I wasn't sure that was a good or a bad thing.
I did not know wether it scared me or comforted me, maybe both.

It felt like finaly comming home, but leaving it the same time.
It felt somehow dangerous, yet so peaceful and safe.
Till there suddenly in the darkness, was a pressence.
A pressence that made me doubt everything I ever believed in.

I am stuck in an overture
of what it's worth of being sure
that the smoked had cleared
on headroom left nothing but feared.

I am dreading a crossroad path,
tell me what good can I get from that?
As long as this insecurity subsides
I shall tread the least before I tried.

I tend to settle with what I felt eased,
since the light shown upon me makes it's way east;
to abide by my nailed perception of reality
thus I have obscured the fact that I wrote such finality.

Just like many people,
It's painful for me to look inside,
but yet it comes to me as second nature,
Past so cruel, chewing on my mind,
Like wild coyotes on the weak flesh of chicken.
I look behind me so far it feels like the distance
should take hours to walk,
but if I simply reach out my hand,
I can easily touch it, embrace it, and reject it.
I want to act like that was not me,
but there is nothing that possessed my feet,
to walk in that direction,
that direction that fades into dark like a movie scene.
My past works me like a seductress,
Curling my own finger until I give in and embrace them.
I always look, and I always see me, remember that it's me,
but I always come to a nice little realization,

I am me,

I've changed from then,
ways no longer remained the same,
just like so many people, I changed,
but it's painful to look away,
And it comes to me like first nature.
I constantly compare,
hearing the thoughts that belong to me and myself
dark torturous thoughts,
****, violence, ******, intricate torture, Shameful acts that should not be spoken of.
.......calm, a need to calm, a present tense feeling that gives me control......

I often consider,
which side is more real,
and which one I should use to define me,
Which do the people close to me,
feel more comfortable with, though,
the answer to that comes quick.
But if I hide these thoughts,
these thoughts I force myself to believe are the past,
Such suppressed thoughts,
Which one becomes the hypocrite?
To hide a part of me and act like the opposite this "past",
to act like the opposite of me?
Or would it be hypocritical to act myself, the me I want to be,
and fight the rest of me to be?