Quite Unquiet

I will not be understood in your language
Will not be traced, or seen
In the meanings of your culture
I will not be spoken
Of or about
In the identities of your society
In the names of your family
Will definitely not be called, upon,
As a birth of your land,
The sprout of your soil
I will not be heard
In your stories, your songs
Definitely not your poems
Will never be mourned
In your tears,
Never celebrated, in your religion
There is no space for my being
In the constructions of your love, life and longing
So when I see you
Or put words across, or gestures
When I put myself in front of you
I will be brave in my eyes.
I will run my palm against your face
Will look into your eyes,
And say…
I’m unafraid of myself.

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