I am sad because I hear the word ‘Mong.’
It’s mad. It’s the hate. It’s suffocating.
Go talk to someone or shut up,
or hug my sadness like a helpless child
I need to speak.
Well, it’s just a word they say
just you get over it.
Things happen for a reason. Better things to do,
not my child. Not my disability.
Chin up, shut up and forget.
I’m sorry, it must’ve been awful
to lose your child in your arms
and the last breath and the coldness
and you’re mourning after your son,
‘Mong’ is just a word, get over it
but, my son, he had Down’s Syndrome
and, my roots, they are Mongols
How can I?
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