Incompetent

This is a piece I have written about growing up as first generation Vietnamese-American.

"I want more, impossibly more." Growing up with the expectations. 

The life of being socially American, but physically an Asian. 

I'm never enough, I have never been to her. 

My failures are so clear, accomplishments were a blur. 

I was acknowledged as an incompetent. She made me that way. 

She say she pray for the day that I'd have something she'd smile for. 

But each A, was bad because of the absent of the plus. 

And each day, all I really wanted was her love. 

My Dad died, and she saw him in me. 

She hated that, she hated that she would see. 

The man that died and left her with a son. 

The one that couldn't be enough, no better then just dumb. 

I won't say it though, I don't have the guts to tell. 

F**k my friends for thinking it's not true, because they don't know s**t. 

I don't know how it was growing up, living as the remembrance of the death of what could've been it...