Another tribute, this time to the motherfigure. As can be expected, it's a little bitter.
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Linguistics of Nothing At All


In a past life,
I probably thought
Chinese sounded wonderful,
so clean and loving,
wrapped with centuries of care.

That is,
until you came along
and destroyed your own language,
with a dreadful accent
and shrill execution,
fretting about undercooked meat,
family values,
and rooms uncleaned.

Now it's something
inconsequential,
unimportant,
just another cog in the system of life.

And love becomes nothing at all
in your arms,
from your mouth.


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And it still doesn't sound right. Reviews, anyone?