Banana, Split (draft)

NOTE: Personally, I get way more pissed off about ignorant people of color who ought to know better not knowing better and, in doing so, making us all look bad. This is especially true with other adoptees who "consider themselves white." Shut up; you are not white. Stop embarrassing yourself and everyone else by rejecting who you are. Most of the time, I just feel sorry for people but there's this one person I know who just pisses me off because of 1. how misinformed she is and 2. how loud she is about it.

I should also mention that I am not claiming to be any kind of authority on self-discovery or identity issues but I feel we can all agree that there is something very wrong when a Korean adoptee dresses up like a Japanese school girl at a party and doesn't understand why none of the other Asian people want to talk to her.

This is still a draft.

She knows all the words to Weezer,

was Go-Go Yubari for Halloween

and, in her tiny-mind, her chipmunk cheeks are the

the hottest you’ve ever seen

dressing like a school girl-dragon lady-

ex-Asian hyping the exotic East

Hangul hurts her hands

so she settles for (what she’s pretty sure is) kanji

Reclaims her hanguk saram handle

But a piece of shit by any other name

still stinks like she’s rotting from the inside out--

diseased with something awful, incurable

no matter how many yellow fevered topicals

coat that vapid pout.

Hitchhiking--no, sidestepping--toward self discovery

or reclamation for popularity--

she breaks a sweat, remains half a world away--

darling, you’ve got to go down the road,

not cross the street

and, remember, before you vomit

your drunken broken hangul greeting at a party

that solidarity doesn’t mean

I want to stand next to you.

I’ve seen Japanophile white girls less offensive than she is--

all alternating between being full of shit and white-boy penis

cleavage over-represented like adopted names in suicide rates

bottom-feeding, sub-human, race-traitor, wannabe,

I don’t care about how hard you had it,

Mom not listening or Dad’s whore-habit--

Unable to speak--no, unable to be,

all her heart’s sob stories about hidden bloodlines

language lost, and guilty conscience

all turn into pathetic cries for sympathy.

The day can’t come soon enough

when she opens up a vein or two,

lets her complaints pool beneath her

and still can’t tell

if our blood runs the same color.