February 8, 2008
By Elizabeth Googe, New Albany, MS

I’ve always thought were green,
With scary eyes and eight arms,
Just like in the books Momma used to read,
All the kids at school say they eat people.
Those evil aliens are from outer space,
And don’t fit in this place
So why, Momma why…
why am I the alien?

My skin is olive, not green,
I have two brown eyes, not four.
And I’d never want to eat somebody,
I’m pretty sure.
The other little girls at school think I talk funny,
But isn’t it right how I talk?
Amigo and friend are the same,
Just a different word
Why am I having to learn to speak like them?
When, remember, back home everyone told me
I could sing beautifully,
Yet why momma why am I an alien?

You were the one that wanted to come,
To this place so full of diversity,
Papa said that this was the only way
For you and me,
But I miss my land,
I miss my country,
Where are the other “strange” talking little girls,
And the big families?
There’s no bright colors here,
Not that I can see.

I’m no longer normal in this land,
What I ever thought was right is bad
My past, my present, my now,
Is wrong.
The teacher tells me to try speaking
The little girls and boys know
I’m different,
I guess, Momma,
Maybe I am an alien.

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