Christian Hanz Lozada
Monster Gets the Surgery
Monster’s skin is replaced
it’s not the confusing shade of brownish red that says he could be anything
but white.
It’s now a porcelain pale, the kind Goths aspire to.
It feels, to him, far away, like his flesh floats near it
not touching
but it is his, now, that’s all that matters.
it’s not the confusing shade of brownish red that says he could be anything
but white.
It’s now a porcelain pale, the kind Goths aspire to.
It feels, to him, far away, like his flesh floats near it
not touching
but it is his, now, that’s all that matters.
His nose is changed, too,
no longer the bulbous and blunt;
instead it’s angular and sharp
manufactured not molded.
no longer the bulbous and blunt;
instead it’s angular and sharp
manufactured not molded.
Monster returns home with new skin and face
and his family loves him more.
The White ones welcome him
The Brown ones ask his secret
The Mixed ones are jealous.
and his family loves him more.
The White ones welcome him
The Brown ones ask his secret
The Mixed ones are jealous.
Monster returns to poetry readings,
the ones where he felt out of place:
too dark in a white room,
not dark enough in brown and black rooms
always performing, never feeling.
The line between acceptance here is clearer.
the ones where he felt out of place:
too dark in a white room,
not dark enough in brown and black rooms
always performing, never feeling.
The line between acceptance here is clearer.
When Monster speaks, though, in either room
when Monster describes his experience living Mixed,
his voice seems hollow, more empty than before.
Light reflected on his skin and projected out onto the world,
shading and tinting everything he saw in shades of color.
when Monster describes his experience living Mixed,
his voice seems hollow, more empty than before.
Light reflected on his skin and projected out onto the world,
shading and tinting everything he saw in shades of color.
Now the light, reflected on his white, white skin,
makes the world too stark, too sharp,
and the feeling is familiar.
It’s all edges
sharp enough to cut
and there is no hiding
in a white lit room,
you are always seen.
makes the world too stark, too sharp,
and the feeling is familiar.
It’s all edges
sharp enough to cut
and there is no hiding
in a white lit room,
you are always seen.
Even the Fake Waterways Are Yours Because We Listen
Monster would be the first to admit he’s jealous
watching the White boys with their White parents
fishing for crawdads in the little waterway
watching the White boys with their White parents
fishing for crawdads in the little waterway
the four of them standing on the other side of the chains
unabashedly doing the forbidden
never making eye contact with passersby
not from guilt
but from your worthlessness
unabashedly doing the forbidden
never making eye contact with passersby
not from guilt
but from your worthlessness
It might be hot,
he might be sweating,
the water might look so cool, so so cool
but he won’t step over the chain to dip his slippered feet
the restrictions are too internalized to cross the line
he might be sweating,
the water might look so cool, so so cool
but he won’t step over the chain to dip his slippered feet
the restrictions are too internalized to cross the line
the painted white lines,
in all their shapes and styles
were layered into him too well
by Brown Dad, fearing he’d go too far
by White Mom, fearing he’d fail
by the White bosses, classmates, coworkers, cops, threatening the unknown
in all their shapes and styles
were layered into him too well
by Brown Dad, fearing he’d go too far
by White Mom, fearing he’d fail
by the White bosses, classmates, coworkers, cops, threatening the unknown
Monster wears his jealousy with the pride of a teacher’s pet,
cloaked in right
salivating for wrong
knowing the difference between the two:
cloaked in right
salivating for wrong
knowing the difference between the two:
the pet and the rebel
is a couple shades,
good ears,
and a lifetime of the wrong lessons
is a couple shades,
good ears,
and a lifetime of the wrong lessons
Envisioning a Never Me
At a Filipinx writing workshop,
the first prompt asks me to look at my identity
like a village, describe it, and hopefully
answer:
what does it mean to me
to be and to love being Filipinx.
the first prompt asks me to look at my identity
like a village, describe it, and hopefully
answer:
what does it mean to me
to be and to love being Filipinx.
But that question is impossible.
I’m not wholly Filipino
I’m not wholly Filipino
the first prompt doesn’t ask:
what does it mean to me
to be and to love being White
what does it mean to me
to be and to love being White
But that question is impossible anyway
I’m not wholly white.
I’m not wholly white.
Neither fish nor fowl nor good
and I enter each village
not welcomed not welcoming
and at every door, I’m asked:
and I enter each village
not welcomed not welcoming
and at every door, I’m asked:
“show your papers”
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