Back
Long before i found my truth
i was hiding.
And i hid well.
Behind walls of pronouns
and long sleeves to cover.
Behind book covers and
blank sketchbooks.
i was fading
Then i found something.
i found poetry.
i would write pages
and pages
of impermanent pen.
Angry lines removed beautiful
TRUE
cries of attraction and attention
i bled words and cried ink.
To be honest,
"She"
my muse, my love, my angel
became
"Him"
****** and painful.
Now i have light.
F**k you homophobes,
Those who made me uncomfortable in my own skin.
I come out
STRONG
And i love her and
She loves me.

In a place created
By the hands of the minoritized regiment
"Immigrant"
has somehow become a bad word
                                     an insult
                                     a curse
Immigrant, arrogant, delicate
Dedicated to the saving of our lives
The protection of our wives
and children, the fear in their eyes
It's evident your estimate's incorrect
A guestimate on its hind legs
You scared?
Hesitant, eloquent, sentiment
The settlement you created and forced us in
Reminiscent of that place where we've been
Pushing against discrimination because of the color of our skin
And you teach your kin
Such words of sin
Look down your noses at us, you and your tie pin
Tryna get signed in
Bring mine in
Eyes cryin.
Blue skies and
Bold lyin.
You didn't give us time
You didn't let us find
your way, tryna get in line
Tryna stay, I'm
just tryna
just tryna
From Mexico, China
to Puerto Rico, Brazil,
Drinkin my Jamaican ***.
From Hindustan, Kazakhstan
to Bolivia, Thailand, rock the wrong drum.
Liberia, Ethiopia to London.
We all came or were tryna come.
You deported us, afforded, and so we sat
ignored, deplored.
Unsure of any light
so we fight for what's downright
ours and tonight, We bring our standards to new heights
It'll be tight, and we'll bite.
And we'll stand on our toes
So everybody knows
We stood for our rights.

my wings are tied, the left is shedding
my once white feathers
blow away
on drafts of
my slowly slowing
breath

my body is cold, i grasp my shoulders
as they chip and crack
fractures starting
at the base
of my wings
bits of me
drift away
on drafts of
my slowly slowing
breath

my hair is falling, whipping in the low breeze
i run my fingers through it
i pull chunks from
my head
the strands
are wisped away
on drafts of
my slowly slowing
breath

and i stop.

I am pure
Am I?
I am stained beyond repair
not scarred
for my shell is thick.
They ask me why I draw and erase
upon my skin
as if I am paper.
"Why not just get a tattoo?" they ask.
So worried about me.
But I answer the same
Every time.
'I prefer the
impermanence
of pen,
for
nothing as perfect
as my own art
upon my skin
my personal
reusable canvas
should be allowed to stay.
The doodles come and go
as
sunsets and sunrise
shone on the
the lake of
tears
cried for
those lost in
the endless battle against the
impurity
of mine
and my own.