second generation

person holding clear glass ball
Photo by Nizam Abdul Latheef on Pexels.com

 


i can hold my own in a conversation not in my language /
because i’ve learnt it, piecemeal, in response to demand /

but wait – it should have been my language all along, right /
and the fact that it isn’t /
is actually my fault /
and the fault of this (overly) free country i was born in /
and the fault of the experiences that just don’t seem to line up /

it’s amazing how wrong you can feel /
about your life that is supposedly so right /
and how you have to be a different person in each of your circles /
so that no one will know the many ways in which you don’t fit in /

it’s both maddening and heartbreaking to know /
that you’ll never be good enough /
for the people who supposedly resemble you the most /

averaged

blur calm waters dawn daylight
Photo by Gabriela Palai on Pexels.com

i don’t recognize my life anymore, it’s living itself

there isn’t a place i can rest my head that feels like my home

maybe that was a concept only for childhood

~

i’m like tempered glass, i can take anything and never break

but i feel nothing either

~

my highs and my lows have been averaged out

to a near-constant forbearance

~

i don’t know if i’m stronger for keeping it together

or stronger if i’d let myself unravel

~

it makes me happy to make you happy

but i don’t know who i am anymore

or if i should strive to be anyone at all