They’re just words, right?
I hear ‘em on the regular,
Getting thrown around at me without second thought,
People always making light.
But when I reallyyy stop and think…
It ain’t so funny anymore.
These words and “jokes”,
Pushing me to the very brink,
Calling me “chink”.
My eyes, my hair, my background and my skin,
I can’t control it all,
But I can be thin.
Maybe they’ll like me then.
I can change my clothes, my personality,
But this is reality,
And they only see one thing.
Yellow.
Or rather, a yellow-ish coloring.
Words stick to me like glue,
Turning my demeanor blue.
But when I call them out,
They say I’m the one in the wrong and it makes me doubt.
“You’re being sensitive”, “it’s just a joke”,
“Oh my god calm down”, “you’re being too woke”.
Maybe I am sensitive or weak,
But their words cut deep as it affects my physique.
Affecting my mind as they tell me not to mind.
I don’t understand the cruelty of some teens,
Saying it’s not racist despite mocking my genes.
And I do have a strong dislike
Towards people who make a joke, all alike,
About my skin, my eyes, my race.
I will give no grace.
My name isn’t “Ling Ling”.
I’m not a “dog eater” or a “cat eater”.
My eyes aren’t “small”.
I am Korean.
Not Chinese, not Japanese, not Filipino or any other Asian.
They’re not “all the same thing”.
Your racism isn’t excusable as a joke,
I’m not too sensitive or too woke.
You being called out just isn’t the norm,
And I know racism, in many a shape and form.
