My Hands Become Claws

When I falter even just a little

I do nothing but belittle

myself; ashamed of my flaws

my hands become claws

that I rake down my face

at the thought of being last place.

I think about what happened beforehand, 

how my father left his homeland.

My parents risked everything for me.

I refuse to be

They loved and they lost for me.

I can never be

someone who worked just a little.

I need to be someone no one can belittle.