Rue Silva Poems

My life, my destiny
Has been so painful, so don't call me refugee.
My heart aches, my eyes cry,
I beg of you, please don't call me 'refugee'.
...

What are you?

These are the words that you ask me
...

You're worth a little more if you're golden

yellow enough to remind them of precious metals
...

"What are you? " he asks. "I mean what are you mixed with? "

He does not mean for the question to be rude. He has never seen someone quite like me, and the question has been bouncing around in his head for at least 2 minutes. So he blurts it out.
...