English is a Prosthetic

English is a prosthetic I wear instead of home.

For I cannot feel the way people describe

the way rivers turn pink

from cherry blossoms

that line the pavement

in the fleeting weeks of spring.

English is a prosthetic I wear instead of home.

For I am forced

to wear the dress of a stranger

in a room filled with kindred,

with whom I share this blood.

English is a prosthetic I wear instead of home.

For my face is a map of a country

my mouth can no longer find.

It betrays,

betrays—

English is a prosthetic I wear instead of home.

For I have been fated with a tongue

that translates my soul

into fucking academia.

English is a prosthetic I wear instead of home.

For I cannot find the right words

when my mother asks about my day.

English is a prosthetic I wear instead of home.

Because I have mastered the only tool I have left,

and it cannot say who I am.