chuquai Billy
I went in search of what they call my roots,
Because I used to have them.
I used to wear it on my sleeve like a broken heart
Stick it up in front of me like a medicine shield,
And it worked.
A comedian once described me as exotic and banal.
Translation: ethnic and boring.
Was it true? All comedy is based in truth.
It was harsh enough to make me quit.
My roots are gone, like a fading memory.
So this is exile
You throw away your country, your friends, your culture, and your soul,
Like a ghost who occasionally exists in the mind of others.
It was so glamourous in the 90s… what happened?
Now I sit locked away in a covid-free room watching the outside world on YouTube in a land far from where I was born.
Maybe I should take a creative writing class?
