A Day in an English Class in America

Voices in my head,
Voices around me,
I turn my head around
In a chamber filled with others,
To eye on their mouths rapidly
Moving,
Twitching,
Producing sounds to add to a symphony of angelic choruses,
Or to condemn to hell litanies of said words
Not worthy to be enthroned.

With eyes but little lines carved on yellow skin,
I sometimes peer out the translucent barrier
Perhaps to catch a glimpse of something else
That might excite me,
An altogether ingenious excuse
To avoid the cloistered realm,
Where the celestial war rages
Among the others.

And I,
On the outskirts,
Am always invited to join in
The battle that is never mine,
To carry weapons that are foreign,
To tear down what is truly in my heart,
Forced to feign a face bright with a large smile,
But deep inside, my blood seethe with inexpressible anger,
Nothing but conflicted feelings,
That I'd betrayed my roots,
Sold my worth to others
Who'd read so much,
Yet whose feet are so firmly planted
On this soil of supposed freedom and beauty,
Unable to understand what it means
To be of both worlds,
But in actuality,
Neither.