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I wanted to write
Wanted to use my mother toungue
But its alphabet was shackled by colonialism
In between my pale lips it sounded wrong
I can’t even recite it
I know my abc’s
Always been enough for me
A stranger in my own home
Sitting on the brink of a ticking time bomb
Looking at Phoenix cities that rise from ashes
While knowing I’d just become dust if it went off
I do not belong and I made that myself
Changed my accent, straightened my hair
To try and belong elsewhere
To go to that damned promised land
And now I’m going
And I wonder when I’ll have the balls to come back

About the Author:

Susan is a future mathematician, who at eighteen has no idea what she is doing, much less any idea about whatever the fuck she is writing.