This first one is something I wrote over a couple of class periods when I was in a class that centered on a discussion of war. I think it reflects what I was feeling as I first came back to the US.
Sometimes I wonder if I will ever fit in
Sometimes my knowledge makes me want to scream
Sometimes your ignorance makes me want to scream
Why does it have to be this way?
Am I ever going to fit in?
Do I want to fit in?
Am I ever going to feel at home?
I just want to scream
I just want to scream
Your ways are offensive to me
My ways are offensive to you.
This is a culture I don't understand or want to accept
This is a culture that doesn't understand or want to accept me
Why am I here again?
Why am I here?
I don't understand what you understand
you don't understand what I understand
You talk about economic bail out, and relate to it in your culture
I talk about security guards with bows and arrows and warcraft with spears. That's what I relate to
Don't trap me into this life. I have to break free
You talk about presidents
I talk about tyrants
You talk about elections
I talk about coups
This second poem is one I wrote just today. Similarly, I was in a class talking very theoretically about Algeria's war for independence. It kind of got me that everyone was so... distant.
It’s a story to you
The terrorist attacks
It’s something from history
Something to which you cannot relate.
I sit here silently
I zone out and breathe
Images filling my mind on and on
While you talk about possible interpretations.
How do you interpret
The images of mangled bodies in my country
How do you interpret
The months of terror and fear
How do you interpret
The constant fear of riots
How do you interpret
The history of the country I love?
You see it’s not a story to me.
I have sat, and I have listened.
As tales of charred children and forced cannibalism
Tales of rebel attacks and of internally displaced persons
I have listened
As our family friends talk about running from a dictator
And I have prayed,
As our friends have left the country for safety.
It is a story now.
But when the gun shots go off, I snap to attention
When a car backfires, I feel the pain in my chest.
Images fill my mind.
You talk in hypothetical ways.
Sometimes the ignorance makes me want to scream
Sometimes the things I know make me want to scream
And yet I do not.
You laugh at me
When I bring up things that do not relate to the US.
You are frustrated
When I do not respond in class.
It goes on and on.
Around and around
Over and over
And so
I sit here silently,
While you compare this to Greek Tragedy.
I sit here silently
And try to not blow up.
I am a bomb like the ones you are discussing
I am a gunshot flying around the room
I am ticking, and my frustration is coming.
And yet I sit here silently.
Well, that's re-entry for you I guess. Ups and downs, and feeling misunderstood.
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