Growing up, we thought the world was magic,
a place where you can bring your dreams to life
with closed eyes and saying it out loud.
For a while, it worked.
Outside, in the sun, we watch Egrets fly by
as we call out to them with our palms raised to the sky,
asking for white fingernails, and blue eyes.
Older us would have asked to be loved and understood.
In the winter, we trace our father’s roots
back to our motherland, like ants to molehills
and we get to sleep outside, under the moon
counting stars and making wishes that come true
Growing up, we still believe that the world is magic
but we hide this truth within the depths of our souls,
for fear of being called a child, or odd.
We all desperately want to belong.
I have not seen one Egret in the sky since I turned 16…
