a space to breathe – my ID is just a membership card
for the club of my nationality. rationally detailed;
but the details of it aren’t the details of my life

my identity formed in numbers, letters, and regional
placement – a birth verification code into a nameless reality;
social norms, laws to conform, my legitimacy by roadblocks
that is confirmed… how I wish it said I love to write poems

that I'm insecure of my self image in the mirror sometimes,
that ageing with grace, is more of a reminder of all the things
I wish I had done at a younger age – a collection of my desires
and experiences; the love I have to give, love I hope to one
day receive, all the places I hope to dream, a place…

sigh,




                     a space to breathe.