It has been years since your death yet my hands tremble, lips shiver anxiety grips me so bad I can’t breathe without help Some days are worst than others but I get through them with the help of wires attached on my wrist I pull and pull and pull wishing no one will witness my struggle wishing no one will rush to save it gets hard to breathe on my own when flashes of that dreadful day consume me whole Gush of crimson throw my thoughts on erroneous path Deafening screams seek abode in the crevices of my throat Rage blinds me from sanity Gold chain settled on the curve of my neck choke my dreams, and yours too. I wish to dream of white lilies and sunset but I dream of how it should have been me in your place. They tell me to let it go how could I when all I have known is to hold on I have hoarded memories in my heart your words run wild in my veins your laughter consume the hatred blooming within I live for moonless nights to write you thousands of eulogy For that is what you wanted It has been years since your death I don’t want to move on because I fear I will forget the memory of you And I don’t want to I am so scarred of goodbye that the thought of it creates havoc within me Maybe that’s why I paint you in poems like you painted poems for me you are that beautiful poem my soul seeks for For darling poems live thousands of death even after not making it till end.
Without electric pink hair Without neon blue hair Without arms covered in tattoos That tell you I cannot change even if I wanted to, Under a bright rainbow Or with pride hashtags.
Living in closets Have taught some of us to like the sepia. Bright colors seem to draw attention To the fact that our names sound Straight. That we work jobs Which require us to not Show our skins In courtrooms And conferences. And we like our hair Tied into ponytails That end below our waists.
We talk with reserve. Our mouths open and close Only how much is needed. Not all of us are proudly loud. All the nights of silent weeping Help here. And our hands stay at the side of our bodies Being used, Only when necessary. Unlike your movies With limp wrists Moving animatedly when one of us talks.
Not all our clothes are leather jackets Black boots And shirts that will put the sun to shame. Not all our men are effeminate. Not all our women are masculine. We like dainty porcelain skin Brittle as it seems.
We don't necessarily quote Plato and Burroughs At dinner tables. Our gods are still the same as yours When we sit on the same pews And walk into the same temples as you do. We listen to aunties talking about us In shopping aisles Like it is a curse.
Maybe it is a curse. To carry a bit of the closet All our lives To our graves. To have to explain To our closest ones Why we are The way we are. To still fight for our rights Every day On the gray sidewalk. And To have our sexuality Misinterpreted and Encoded Into a stereotype.