who am I?

fresh out of the plane,

weary eyed and sickly pale, 

I trudge.

deep within my suitcase, I carry a passport I don't want to show to anyone, 

even if they ask for ID. 

I'm hopelessly aware of my accent and completely broken Japanese which seems to tell those around me that I don't think.

in that moment, I feel immense shame for being born American. 

I board a fast train alongside my grandmother, 

who sits beside me and falls asleep,

her graying hair in soft braids, and multicolored clothing making her stand out amongst the neutrals and business-casual of the commuter metro. 

I'm over aware of my blonde hair, my clothes, everything that makes me nothing like these strangers, 

and instead of the usual pride I feel in being different, 

I suddenly hate it. 

this difference, this obvious look about me that tells the world I come from somewhere with tarnished democracy and a growing oligarchy makes me feel sick. 

my cousin awaits me at the station. 

20, yet still shorter than me, she smiles. 

she may see me as a whole, 

but strangers only see USA as I stumble through my basic vocabulary at the 7/11. 

as I lie awake on a futon 16 hours away from home, 

I wonder why America became a place I so wanted to leave.

because of the monster in office, everyone I meet seems to worry that I support him, 

that I agree with the garbage that flows from his mouth in a steady stream. 

from a distance, 

when I am merely someone on the street, 

speaking in American English, 

the strangers around me assume the worst. 

and the hardest thing about that,

is that I don't blame them. 

in The United States of America.

freedom no longer reigns, 

and no matter how hard I try, 

a blonde, 

speaking American English

in a foreign land, 

tells strangers I'm brainwashed.

such a shame to grow up in an America from my wildest nightmares.