Elementary: all I want was to go to sleepovers.
How all the blonde hair blue eyes girls talk about slumber parties
while I  sit here and question my ethnicity
How I would go home and cry, asking myself why am I different?
Dealing with racism and hate
at the age of 8
How they would  tell me to go back to my country. What do you mean? This is my country.
Funny when people ask me " Don't you know karate''? " Are you sure Bruce Lee isn't your cousin"?
Questions hurt me, like thousands of rocks.
Like my purpose on earth to be interrogated by nonsense and ignorance.
Bystanders stood and didn't ask If I was okay
it's like my people are puppets and those people are being amused by the play.
How we are categorized into one group
because those people are too lazy to learn our differences
" Oh, black hair, smart, short and tiny eyes, must be Chinese, guys!"
Let my voice paint pictures in your mind
because me, my people, Hmong people, are one of a kind.
We are from the mountain regions of China. *wait let's rewind*
The Secret  War
Such a secret that no one knows that my people fought in combat side by side with the Americans
My people were told that if we fought we were guaranteed a better life in America.
My people crossed that Mekong river, on bamboo boats, that could barely float.
Where freedom sat on their throats.
Even today my people are still being killed for the involvement in the Vietnam War.
Today, I am proud of who I am
I will not let racism phase me
if I hear hate I might burn like hot tea
I'm not an FOB
I'm an Asian- American living in this country
the land of the free
I am the voice of my brothers and sisters
My attitude towards hate is like Hmong medicine- nasty and bitter.
I will not let anyone tell me to go home
because this is my home.