My Book Of Poetry

My Insecurity

My insecurity lay in my identity as queer,

Constantly told that I'm far too straight to call myself it

That the act of dating one sex overlooks the fact that I also date the other,

But I'm too much of a 'freak' to call myself straight

Because loving soul over body is considered outrageous no matter where I try to place myself

Instead I'm stuck in limbo, only allowed to claim one side if I'm dating someone who unlocks the door.

My insecurity lay in my identity as brown,

So unsure if I'm able to call myself that I couldn't even form the words until last year.

Now I am accused of setting claim to something that doesn't belong to me,

They seem to think that the white washing of my family's history wipes out the melanin from my body,

To them it doesn't matter that I am more active in my culture than many of the youth my age

Or that my ancestors blood is permanently bound with the soil under our feet.

My insecurity lay in my identity as a writer,

Though, this time it is not only the outside world that places my doubts

Instead it's my own ill-intentioned brain that works against my craving for creation,

It seems to agree that I will never inspire others like those who inspire me,

That my writing is a child's mediocre scribbles at best

And my dream to teach a dying art to futer children, is as useless as bringing a dead flashlight into the void.

My insecurity lay in my identities 

Because the shouts of the outside world are like deadly poison to my brian,

All of them shouting, that the appeal to date guys erases the craving to date girls

That the paleness of my fathers bloodline strips the color from my skin,

That the perfection of another writer's work, means mine must be a mockery to an art I love

That I fake what makes me who I am just so someone might think I'm special.

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July/6/19