The Model Minority

Am I The Model Minority?
Do I need to check my privilege?
Or am I not so much privileged as...lucky?

Am I The Model Minority?
And if so, a model of what?
Am I a role model by design?
Or is this just the way I am?

Am I The Model Minority?
Or am I simply getting by...getting through...getting off?

Am I The Model Minority?
Embraced by all colors, but especially white?
Am I even trying?
Can I even help it?

And if I am The Model Minority
So much better off than my peers
Why am I still struggling -- more so than some of them?

Why am I still afraid for my freedom?
For my reputation?
For my life?

Why am I still a stare object?
My appearance a conversation piece?
My name a curiosity?

Why am I too colored to be white
And too white to be colored?

Because I am The Model Minority.

Too much "model" to be "minority" -- too much "minority" to be "model."

Am I really The Model Minority???
Or am I the imperfect entirety?
No less, no more, and fundamentally...no different.

I am NOT The Model Minority.

Who is?

The Nothing Man

The nothing man looks into the mirror and sees no one there.

Looks at all his friends and finds that they don't care.

Your heart is love, his mind is hate.

Don't try to save him, it's too late.

Too long he's had this cross to bear.

 

The nothing man hopes and prays for all the love he needs and wants.

The joy, the fun, the pleasure everyone else flaunts.

Don't worry, just enjoy your ride

Don't let his pain hurt you inside.

He's seething, acting nonchalant.

 

The nothing man opens up his heart and gets it closed again.

Opens up his mind but narrows it back when

He sees and hears what cruelty

Replaced the love that used to be.

He's had it better, he pretends.

 

The nothing man looks into your eyes and sees a stare so cold

Looks into your face and does not find a soul.

You have nothing to offer him

His light's gone out, and you've gone dim.

He'll keep his weakness and not be bold.

 

The nothing man knows of his intelligence but feels a fool.

Doesn't give a damn about the golden rule.

The world has done too much to harm

His sense of fairness, don't be alarmed

Just watch him spiral down the pool.

 

I am the nothing man.

You laugh at me because you can.

But you will never understand

The nothing man.

The Interloper

You are the new face in my life

The new name on my lips

The new voice in my ear.

But who are you?

Nobody really knows.

 

I want to bring you into my world -- but you don't belong in my world.

So why do I belong in yours?

And how?

 

The line between us is easily crossed...but sharply drawn.

 

And no matter how you get to me

No matter how you inspire me

No matter how you move me

 

You'll always be the outsider.

The intruder.

The interloper.

 

Getting to me...but not my people.

Inspiring me...to leave behind the ones who were already here.

Moving me...perhaps in the wrong direction. 

 

WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!?! 

 

Maybe you mean no harm. 

But you're destructive.

You're destroying the unity in my universe.

You're upsetting the balance in my life.

 

No -- I cannot let you. I WILL NOT LET YOU! 

 

For I have room in my life for someone to care for like I care for no other

But I have no room in my life for an outsider

An intruder

An interloper.

Hate For You To See Me

I'd hate for you to see me -- the failure I've become.

Sitting at this desk, cheap whiskey in one hand, pen in the other, glare of the computer screen full of images which cannot rescue me.

 

The success you made me is a success long-gone.

The faith you had in me is nowhere to be seen.

The trust you put in me left when you did.

 

But I don't begrudge you for leaving -- you had to go where your path took you.

 

And, I thought I had to do the same -- but where is my path taking me?

What is my path without you?

 

So now you're back.

And you say you miss me.

 

But you don't.

 

You miss the success you made me.

And that's not the "me" I am tonight.

 

Tonight I am low.

Oh, you've seen me when I was low -- but never this low.

And you could always pick me up -- unlike now.

 

No, there are no doors left for you to open for me.

For your path has led you to new things in new places.

And that's all I want -- a new start.

 

I don't ask for my former glory.

I don't ask for the good old days.

I just ask for a better today, and an even better tomorrow.

 

And for once, you can't help me with either.

 

So I'd hate for you to see me -- the failure I've become.

 

And I'd hate for me to see you -- for you'd help me if you could...

but we both know you can't.

The Way Things Ought To Be

They say the good lord giveth and the good lord taketh.
Well, if he is so good, why does he take back what he gives?

They say into each life, a little rain must fall.
But what about a downpour everyday you live?

This wouldn't seem like hell if it didn't look like heaven to everyone who knows both you and me.
But everyone is no one who can fill the gap between the way things are and the way things ought to be.

They say you need the bad times to appreciate the good.
Well, the time to appreciate is long overdue.

They say nothing worth doing in this life is ever easy
But should everything worth doing be done by me and you?

It wouldn't be so hard if only we could comprehend what makes us speak and act so inconsistently.
But that's why we can't throw the wrecking ball at the wall between the way things are and the way things ought to be.

They say that love requires patience, time, and perseverance
But who has time and patience persevering through this sadness?

And love requires understanding, hard work, and trust.
I trust and understand we'll never work hard past this madness!

I know what true love feels like, and I know true love's great sorrow, but I also know the feel of true love's glee.
And in the intervening space lies the difference between the way things are and the way things ought to be.


[Note: In the first verse, the words "lord" and "he" are not capitalized because in researching whether they should be, I found no definite answers, so I decided to publish those words in their purest forms and let the reader judge whether or not they should be capitalized.]