I am blazing wild and
the world has always been fuel to my flame
throwing books at me
so I eat up the words on each page
playing music that has forced
my crackling questions to become
screams
I’m led to cliffs where
I fall, I rise, I grow
I suck up oxygen on the way down
I hit the ground
I burst back up
because
oppression is fuel
because
I have 78 organs, just like you
my blood is red, just like yours
but I was born with brown skin and
that matters?
because the hearts of two of my closest friends
beats for the same sex,
because
now Bruce is Caitlyn?
I look around me
to find my vision is clouded by
double-standers
I should be skinny, but not too skinny?
I should wear makeup, but
not enough that people will notice?
I should love myself, but not too much
otherwise I’ll look conceited?
I should tell him to stop if I don’t want it
but
if I have a bodily reaction,
my no is invalid?
I’m filled with confusion
which, I’m starting to see,
has less to do with fuel and
more to do with what is
“acceptable”
I’m burning holes in myself
taking away me
to add in the toxic chemicals
of opinions and self-hate
to never be less than
a decoy of satisfactory to them
all so I can say I fit in
this is going on and all society cares about
is how long my skirt is?
so where does this leave me?