I am sad because I hear the word ‘Mong.’
It’s mad. It’s the hate. It’s suffocating.
Go talk to someone or shut up,
or hug my sadness like a helpless child
I need to speak.

Well, it’s just a word they say
just you get over it.
Things happen for a reason. Better things to do,
not my child. Not my disability.
Chin up, shut up and forget.

I’m sorry, it must’ve been awful
to lose your child in your arms
and the last breath and the coldness
and you’re mourning after your son,
‘Mong’ is just a word, get over it

but, my son, he had Down’s Syndrome
and, my roots, they are Mongols
How can I?

Hello Mum
Creative Commons License photo credit: h.koppdelaney

Read similar posts:

A Poem for my son Billy

You can call me Mongol


2 responses to “Mong”

  1. Very poignant. you made me cry.


    1. I’m sorry, Anne it made you cry. I think you heard my cry through my words. Thanks so much always for your comments and company.


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