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
being a fly trapped in amber.
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.