It Still Hurts

I look just like you,

Pale skin, light hair.

Do you know my blood is a little bit different?

You might not notice,

The little things, that show I am different.

You might notice an accent in a couple words,

Old habits that are hard to break,

My relatives are far away,

I hide the pride for my birth place. 

I have a loney pin on my bag.

In class it is hard to hide, 

To not feel the sting of the little words,

Tossed around, 

They don’t know what I am, 

How could they?

Even so the words still sting,

Citizenship, terrorist,

Sometimes I feel nauseous,

Talking about myself.

I look just like you,

They don’t mean it,

But,

It still hurts.