We rally for ‘safe spaces’,
And I say I want to ‘enable’ them.
But my own mind doesn’t feel so,
And yet I want to make spaces safe.

My thoughts are unsettling,
And they can un-safe your space
But I demand ‘safety’ for Others
As I forget my agency,
And practice it for Them.

This is my ‘coming out’
But not entirely yet.

Because the closet feels nice,
Safe, on most days.
And who do I come out to?
I don’t know yet.

My desires are fluid,
But my identity, not.
‘Find yourself’ say the therapists,
But do I want to be found, we don’t know.

This closet is quiet and mine
Made of desires, thoughts I want to hold on to.
Coming out, means letting go,
When there’s no one to let go to.

And so I’ll keep the closet,
it’s quiet and mine
Lost and unfound,
Till I figure how to be found again.

“Adjust for a few days”
“Why can’t you adjust for a few days?”

Adjust, accommodate, compromise, we’re taught
My voice is important, you say
But, how do we question ways and people,
That rest on your acceptance of tradition?

Empathize, empathize, empathize, we’re told,
But when does empathy turn into submission, I ask
To hierarchy, the patriarchal ways of life,
Acceptance of everything, I otherwise fight?

But I empathize,
Till I forget my voice,
And you, empathy
And life becomes a shrill angry noise.