asian america

above my head every night is a flag of red, white and blue,

yet, it’s a different one you know of. 

my Chinese name is Zheng Chen Hao.

I’ve only referred to myself to this a few times when people ask

one of the few phrases I know after quitting Madarin when I was seven.

the same faces who see a bigger sunset live a different life

minorities that aren’t as minor as they feel

against them is a higher pressure of academics, prodigal expectations,

and honor for their family

yet, they all have each other.

a second generation, but the connection of past and new shared

even with the culture refined, it’s still held.

however, I can only see a reflection of myself in the mirror.

a boy with tan skin and thick black hair, yet that means nothing to me.

my academics, art, and perception lying in mediocrity

the mind and soul is the same as the moonlit children,

and sometimes I forgot I am not them

yet I face the injustice they offer occasionally.

I am a boy who dropped his jade and dragon

when my ancestors want to tell me to keep them.

so what is my bloodline’s legacy?

so if I have stopped thinking about you,

why should you enter my life now?

am I still worthy of the red and gold wrapped around my arms?

and if I am too Asian for the White Man,

but too White for the Asian Man,

who am I?

even on the lunar new year,

I still feel guilty of being Americanized.