how do i write
about the origins of a queerness
that was as much an awakening
as a reckoning
shy, my little heart beat furiously
not for women, as they’d hoped
but rather, for beautiful brown men
who plucked chords in me more musical
than the most extraordinary compositions;
terrified of a secret so dangerous
i still attempted to bloom
not realizing i was headed
towards the arrival of a disastrous ending,
that i wish were instead a tender beginning
i remember
how he’d planted a kiss on my cheek one day
and denied my presence the next
what were you afraid of, sir?
“of myself”
...it is a mercy
that liberation demands to be felt so urgently
and thus i flowered, inward
every petal some ineffable color
emerging from the grace and ache of being different
i now march, magnificent yet solitary
loathing myself a little less
trying to percolate love in a bit more
illuminated by an acceptance
that ultimately
i only found within