(My) Life

<![CDATA[<figure><img src="https://static.wixstatic.com/media/84c03e_b03f8798233b4481975c7c39402d69be~mv2.jpg/v1/fit/w_2320,h_3088,al_c,q_80/file.png" width="2320" height="3088" title="Image"></figure>Photo of the AuthorLife is a storyToo long to reciteSo I wrote it in a poemFor you to listen if you mightNot a life’s storyFrom birth to nowBut reimaging my humanityAnd of howAs a first-generation college-educated black pansexual woman, I…What a mouthfulNot symbolic to my insidesMy motivation to appease is doubtfulAnd I don’t hideI used to consider myself labellessUntil I started filling out formsTo avoid receiving lessBenefits to pay for my dormsBecause I fill a quotaA checkBut am I guaranteed respect?Dipping and dodging my peersWho act like the pressBut I digressAs I’m spitting my identifierMy labelI would like to just be humanBut others not in my opportune are ableTo speakI don’t speak for themThat’s respectfulYet we can converse about the struggleOf saying how we’re suppressed into a labelHow stating our demographicsHalts the trafficOf new people coming into our livesNot that we’re unapproachableBut we have to be mindful every timeBeing asked by men“What’s it like to be with a girl?”As if they never been with one themselvesAnd now I’m invited to rock their worldThey don’t care for the detailsThat my identity means I don’t go for one or the otherBut whomeverRegardless it arouses themI refuse to be present any furtherSeeing relatives you rarely speak toAsking in a consistent phrase“Where’s your man? Hurry up and have a baby”But telling them my focus is on myself is a shameAs if I did not spend the last 4 yearsBuried in books and debtBattling a broken economyHoping my major was worth itBut I digressLet me get back on trackLIFEHave I lived it yet?I’m still young and aliveCan’t say I reached the end of the storyYet I’m here on this stageI’m speaking on the annoyances I hearInstead of my life itselfAs if those annoyances are my lifeAnd not myselfThe quarter-life crisis is crazyBut my feed is crazierHearing my people getting gunned down in the streetsIncluding the action’s justifiersTelling my people to power throughAnd shout their name into the streetsJust to add more namesIn the next day or weekI feel weakIt took four yearsA PW placeAnd a group of people the place deemed misfitsFor me to reimagine what I need in a spaceIs it a utopia where my labels are unnecessary to discussWhere Justice is servedOr saying no isn’t battled with coercion and nerveBut a place that won’t challenge me, I cannot trustIn my reimagining, I learned to justBe presentBe heardPost that articleStep on that nerveYou can’t debate in the comments sectionMy degree told me soIt did tell me how to paraphrase and rewordSo on my labels here I goAs a gorgeous being who chooses to love whoever walks my pathAnd is educated to articulate that love and pass it backTo the ones before me who couldn’t ride with meThat if I’m taken, they will tell my reimagining, My storyI am proud of my labelsBut I am unlabel-ableI am full of flawsBut I am lovableWhich keeps others in aweIf you think I rambled onIt’s cool, It’s fineBut you sat all the way throughSo it was hopefully worth your timeHowever, it’s the end of mineI hope what I said is close to fantasticAs I try not to trip over these lyrical gymnasticsSo, in this instanceI did not speak on lifeI spoke on existenceI am not a pro at lifeI can only speak for nowTo encourage you to do for the momentAnd make our kids’ moment better somehow]]>

Comments

Leave a Reply Cancel reply