This is to the ESL teacher
that pulled me in and out of class
that snatched away my recess
that counted every one of my stutters
with tally marks climbing up
the margins of her yellow notepad
I felt ashamed
to spell my name
because I knew it was to blame
Picking up a book to read
was just another chance
for her to bring out
the infamous red pen
that brutally slaughtered
every inch of hope for fitting in
It seemed like advanced placement
was never going
to be in my vocabulary list
I slumped in my bare desk
in a classroom full of social children,
having strong thoughts to share
but a voice not fast enough
My family’s broken English
made her believe
I was just the same
and it was something
she could proudly tame
Little did she know
that I was the one
who read the newspaper
to my family at the dinner table
who spoke for them
when the phone rang
who wrote for them
when the school papers came
She allowed the children to snicker
when there was no “Good Job” sticker
in the corner of my flawless spelling test
This is to the ESL teacher
that always made me feel
declined, denied, and defined
that always purposely waited
for another slip of my accent
I KEPT PROVING HER WRONG
by walking across
that middle school stage
with that golden rope
around my neck
I KEPT PROVING HER WRONG
by filling out those college application
knowing that this was the real dream
that my family chased after
This is to all the immigrants’ kids :
you must raise their expectations
even higher just to
KEEP PROVING THEM WRONG