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.
Banana, Split
She knows all the words to Weezer,
was Go-Go Yubari for Halloween
and, in her white-washed 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 reeks 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 identity-reclamation all for popularity--
she breaks a sweat, remains half a hemisphere away--
darling, you’ve got to go down the road,
not cross the street
and, remember, before you puke out
that 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 dick,
cleavage over-represented like adopted names in suicide rates
trying too hard to carve her story into a history she doesn’t get
when she’d be better off slitting her wrists into the statistics she hasn’t seen.
Bottom-feeding, sub-human, double-race-traitor, wannabe,
I don’t care about how hard you had it,
Mom was too distant, Dad had a whore-habit--
She’s unable to speak--no, unable to be,
all her heart’s sob stories about hidden bloodlines
language lost, and guilty conscience
all turn to 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.
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