You learn a lot of things in school,
Some are useful, helpful…painful,
Nothing too meaningful or joyful.
At least you learn what you don’t like.
I learned in 7th grade that I don’t like history,
Or a certain type of history that teaches that
My people don’t exist and I never did, apparently.
My history teacher, Mrs. Caporaso, or Mrs. Capor-a**-o,
As our class often liked to call her,
Reiterated with such finality
That in reality, Mongols simply don’t exist anymore.
She said this right in front of me
‘Cause of alphabetical seating, you see.
That’s the problem with having a last name
That starts with an “A”
Because you’re always seated first that way,
In the front, on display,
When the teacher never actually did say your name,
And you were nothing but a stranger to her --
To her, “There are no Mongols in existence anymore,” 
To her, the exact date the Mongol Empire collapsed,
Which is 1368 by the way,
Mongols ceased to be Mongols,
And they stopped being historical and memorable
And instead became pretty darn forgettable. 
Honestly, I wasn’t offended for myself, not really,
I mean, I’m not going to pretend that I’m not practically American,
But I was slightly miffed for those living in the real deal,
Who have been calling themselves
Mongols with zeal for centuries
‘Cause in our language,
There is only one word for people who share this humble, beautiful culture together
And that is “Mongol.”
No separate word divides those of ancient times from those of present day,
And despite what people say,
Our culture didn’t begin and end
With the reign of Genghis Khan and his grandsons,
Some of us still practice the old lifestyle,
And others have moved to cities, use cell phones and have ringtones,
And that’s fine, change has come, and that’s a part of time.
But our language endures, our memories, attachments endure,
Our collective spirit and identity are far from disabled,
They should not be mislabeled like this,
And although it may seem like I blame my teacher,
I don’t, it’s just I feel like history
Overlooks the real heroes, the real warriors, 
The common, hardworking people,
Extraordinary in their ordinariness,
And, yes, I know that’s a cliché, but sometimes clichés are underrated,
Like those who go through daily life one step at a time,
Harboring always a deep, visceral love for their land.
And as I learned, but not in school,
That’s who the real Mongols were and still are.