Starfish

by Akemi Dawn Bowman

Now when I have a crush on someone, I don’t wonder if they like the same music as me, or if they watch the same kind of movies, or if we’ll get along the way Jamie and I did. I wonder if they like Asian girls.

But I hate confrontation. And disappointing people. And drawing attention to myself.

I want to get away. I want to start over, so I can figure out who I really am and where I fit into the world. Someday I’d like to feel comfortable enough around people to actually say the things I want to say. I’d like to look around and not feel like I’m the outsider. I’d like a life that just feels calm.

I draw a girl with arms that reach up to the clouds, but all the clouds avoid her because she’s made of night and not day.

We thought we were just like all the other white kids, but how a person feels on the inside apparently has nothing to do with how they look on the outside.

I draw five humans and one skeleton, and it doesn’t matter that the skeleton has all the right bones and joints—he will never be the same as the others because he doesn’t have the right skin.

But I’m only half Japanese—I’m the same amount of Asian as I am white. Why doesn’t anyone ever call me half white? It’s confusing.

I paint a woman who steals hearts, but none of them fit the hole inside her empty, black chest.

It’s strange—hope can make you forget so much, so quickly. That’s why hoping is so dangerous.

“You know, if someone is going to be mad at you just because you didn’t let them have their way, you’re better off without them.”

if you wanted to be just friends or not.” I can feel