I got burnt holes in my memories.
I couldn’t change, even if I tried. Even if I wanted to.
I’ve come a long way from being afraid of my desires
to smiling through embraces that felt more natural and right
than any other time in my life.
My tears of confusion finally wrapped around a greater joy
from emotions I suppressed and finally began to understand.
The day my best friend came out to his mom,
I cried and cried
and I prayed for love, understanding and acceptance.
I pleaded with myself and with Waheguru to make everything okay
But I remembered that day, the gay youth on the streets of America
I want my prayers to go out to them too.
Why are they out there?
Tell me the difference between
homeless freedom
and a locked up love.
When can I stop walking on the edge of the line,
living a lie
but really fighting for truth every day of my life.
Tell me I’m wrong
for being a part of the human condition,
embracing the body I was given,
for feeling
scared, nervous emotions,
anxiety due to the current society
and my own father believing my current state as a debt
I have to pay for my karmic synergy.
Tell me what the difference is
between my bones
and a king’s throne.
Tell me I lack composure
and articulation,
but don’t doubt my expression.
My evaluation
of life is more important
than the constant assessment of rapidity and remembrance
of words on paper.
I own my words
and a definition does not own me.
Who taught me to read?
Who taught me
how to live
and laugh at everything except for my surmise.
I never hated.
—I was only afraid of outcomes, consequences
but nothing tangible.
I’d rather function within myself
than change into a fucked up design.
A box with cracks of light peaking
into my life,
I created a waterfall
for my self-cleansing.
I question my own construction,
brainwash pouring out
rushing, dirty gutter water.
I want rainwater to flood consistently
to remind me of the blood and bodies piled up in sacrifice of
humanity.
