When I Close My Eyes I Think Of
by Casey Harloe
The boy I sat next to in STEM who. Never learned my name. I felt special in the worst way. He called me chink eyes. Never learned my name. I took it as a compliment when. He called me chink eyes. I learned to hate this facial feature. I took it as a compliment when. He wouldn’t stop saying it so. I learned to hate this facial feature. Instead of feeling pride. He wouldn’t stop saying it so. I searched YouTube for eyeliner tutorials. Instead of feeling pride. Because of him. I searched YouTube for eyeliner tutorials. To hide my hooded lids. Because of him. Went to Sephora for Nyx liquid liner. To hide my hooded lids. I dragged thick black ink across my crease. Went to Sephora for Nyx liquid liner. To become a stranger. I dragged thick black ink across my crease. In hopes he would call me pretty instead. To become a stranger. For nothing. In hopes he would call me pretty instead. He called me chink eyes. For nothing. Until I graduated and left. He called me chink eyes. After a while I abandoned using make-up. Until I graduated and left. I thought nothing more of it. After a while I abandoned using make-up. To conceal my exhaustion. I thought nothing more of it. Until a virtual microaggressions workshop in college. To conceal my exhaustion. I played it off as a cute nickname. Until a virtual microaggressions workshop in college. Where I learned chink was a derogatory term. I played it off as a cute nickname. Tears filled my Filipina eyes in horror. Where I learned chink was a derogatory term. I had to turn my camera off. Tears filled my Filipina eyes in horror. I looked more Asian like this. I had to turn my camera off. As I sobbed. I looked more Asian like this. Staring at the black box with my White name. As I sobbed. Long after I stopped.
This poem first appeared in DIALOGIST's October 2022 issue.