[Creative] Hugs are little feminist gummy bears


Note: I usually don’t post poetry on this blog… but for once, I’m making an exception (for once… or maybe twice)…

***

To three friends that provide me that which I need
and to whom I seek to give the same in return
feminist gummy bears, wrapped up in a hug
– My alter ego… quietly forgotten

***

My heart listens to lullabies; I don’t. Soft lyrics sway to the wind and rain outside my window, as I sit in silence. I wish my heart would be quiet, and I’d be able to forget the thunder and lightning in my soul for just one moment. I comfort the silence before the storm, caress it and carry it with me; at least I try to, but the harder I grasp the more it escapes me. In fleeting moments and whispering eternity my emotions turn to sand, swept up in a dust cloud that blinds me.

“Let me run,” I would shout…

“Let me lose my way,” I would think…

With each step forward I undress myself more and more, and the shivers in the lukewarm air almost excite my skin; every moment a breath of air leaves me, never to return. Would I dare to seek solace? Should I dare to seek anything at all? I’m surrounded by violated bodies… trans, queer, black, freak, foreign, unnatural, sinful… I try to scream, but find only silence stuck in my throat. Let me run, let me lose my way. Interconnected madness, it all makes too much sense.

I used to wither under the stares of people who would take my body as their own, mould it and twist it into something else. Still I lament a lost language, a lost culture; not a fish out of water, but a prisoner in a life that is barely mine anymore. “Let me forget myself,” something inside me shouts; banging against the bars, it tries to claw at the pain that has infiltrated every limb.

She… she was something else; a bull in a fine porcelain warehouse. With every smashed plate and vase she’d dance in revelation. To be a foreigner in her own land, she’d trash the place and leave it behind. The sounds of drums and trumpet, entire orchestras, the voices of a thousand gods, even the soft tune of destiny itself will not tether her to a drowning world.

어디로 갈꺼나? Where to go…?

I have little notes pasted on my heart, little scribbles of imaginary poetry. I wonder who I am, only remembering what I was; the soft lullabies leave behind a bittersweet taste, covered in wrapped candy by some strange factory in a far off land. Beautiful things in life are never truly free (except for feminist gummy bears, maybe.)

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