identity
vertically,
a cloudy reflection
of who i yearn to be.
unknowing of identity,
i conjure conformity
and project this image
of what the culture longs for me to be
through this atomic blue screen.
a meticulous front i have constructed
to appease male ideologies,
so that i can exist in peace.
to begin with man would be a lie.
i discover ahead of me
through the fog stained glass,
a tall child discredited and criticized
for behaving naive.
my cheek still endures the sting
of when i frolicked on that farm
and stepped on a bee.
authenticity is a disorder,
who i am is not me.
my brain is infected
with a congenital disease.
through the looking glass i discern
a grown up with an aching hunger for clarity.
knuckles white with a grasp on a cloth,
i begin to purge this haze of perplexity
that sought to disfigure my identity.
vigilant of every streak i clean,
this is my portal back to reality.
- sirenspines
