Thinking to myself

Ms. Blakeney said,

Go home and write

a poem by next wednesday.

Make it similar to Langston Hughes’

But, put in pieces of you.

I questioned who I was so I could express myself?

I know I am seventeen, Asian, born and raised unlike them Caucasians.

I’ve been around San Diego, all over California and I won’t even lie I’ve watched some Dora.

I live in a house, I have my family with me, I haven’t experienced anything,

but yet sometimes I question what’s wrong with me

I contemplate my life

Think what I’ve lived,

but If there was anything unique about me I’d say:

Um maybe my skin.

I’ve only been around for some time

and maybe this poem is full of rhyme,

but what makes my life truly mine.

I’ve heard what people have said

A person is defined by race, beliefs, and where they’ve grown

But I believe these are things that we can hone.

These are labels in which we use to tell our fables.

When a person dies what do you remember?

Their race?

Their beliefs?

Maybe the places they been?

But I say no things don’t define me

Because the words I leave leave behind  will further define me

And with that I’m done and all I’ll say is this was fun.