Words of my mother tongue,

They coagulate in my brain.

Fenced off into a cobwebbed corner,

It reeked of sour soymilk,

Until I couldn’t bare the sounds

To come out my mouth again.

I was a foreigner in my own home,

Trying again to formulate the right words and accent.

Balancing one foot on a chopstick,

and the other on waffles and syrup.

the chopstick gave me splinters,

so I snapped it in half with no repent.

Now I am engulfed in the

Syrup chamber, ever so sanguine

forever languishing,

being a fly trapped in amber.

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Chelsea Li is a highschooler born and raised in Dallas, Texas. She likes to draw, listen to The Beatles, and various horror podcasts in her free time.