sing in me, O Muse, the plight of the second generation american;
she is a girl with brown eyes and skin and hair,
with $300 Beats that match her silk headscarf affair.
she brings “exotic” food to school,
and cringes when lentils get on her skirt of tulle.
sing in me, O Muse, her struggle to fit in;
her bad urdu accent makes her relatives distressed,
and the bright blue scarf on her head marks her as “oppressed.”
but really, she’s only a girl in need of more steampunk novellas,
and a few friends who are passionate about ke$ha a cappellas.
sing in me, O Muse, of what this conflict has done:
all these opinions have made the poor girl downright prickly,
and anyone who crosses her will regret it quickly.
but through all the posturing, lying craze
the young girl has, amazingly, found her place
sing in me, O Muse, of how happy she is now:
the girl now writes feminist poetry and imitates bollywood dancers,
and has learned that all those pedantic prancers
who claimed that one side bested the other, were in fact
all the same in one thing—they were cracked!