When someone calls me an immigrant I am confused
Not knowing in what context the word has been used-
Maybe it is just an observation about me
Because I look and pronounce words differently..
I must confess here, though, that I am insecure
What my immigrant status signifies to someone, I am not sure
Some actually mean to compliment the industriousness
That they have noted in immigrants who garner success
Yet I am afraid when I am thus identified
My efforts at assimilation are intensified
I know it is difficult for any group to include
An outsider- I definitely do not want to intrude
There maybe some who look at me
With some degree of anger and animosity
I do not know if anyone has been deprived
Of a livelihood because of me, I have not contrived
To do any such thing- in fact, as far as I know
I obtained a visa only after my employer could show
That a citizen of this country suitable for this position
Could be found- those were the grounds for my immigration
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My immigrant status is a shadow lurking in the dark
Sometimes it stays hidden, sometimes makes a mark
I am grateful to live and work here
Yet I wish my alienness would disappear..
The enduring attribute of my immigration
Would be my life-long attempt at integration.
True reflection of an immigrant’s feelings!
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