I want to talk about the expectations,
about how the second leading cause
to female Asian American deaths,
is suicide,
because that beautifully laced corset
you made for us is just too tight to fit,
leaving no room to catch our grasping breathes.

I want to talk about the image those girls see:
everyday waking up to a face of disgust in the mirror
and looking down to see a sight
of oh-too-big thighs and oh-too-small eyes.

I want to talk about the pressures they’re put through,
about the sleepless nights you put me through.
I want to talk about how I cry
because I can’t reach these “benchmarks” of yours.

I want to talk about my grades,
about how I like math and science,
but I LOVE art,
and why a B+ just won’t make the cut anymore,
and a 4.0 gets only a shrug.

I want to talk about growing up,
about being your golden egg,
but you don’t seem to understand,
even this egg needs some warmth to grow.
Yet I’m scared of cracking open,
because maybe,
I’m not your mighty dragon,
maybe,
I’m just another chick like the rest.
You want a beautifully scaled shimmering goddess,
but I’m only one person,
sometimes, hardly even that.

I want to talk about how much I need you,
And how I need you to understand,
so we need to talk,
because I want to talk,
about you
and these pressures.