This Body Is Home
This boxy is a box. It is not me. When you trap my identity in labels of gender, regional feature, skin colour, this body makes me feel like a prisoner.
Finding home & a sense of belonging within shifting identity politics of geography, region, language, politics, ideologies and culture.
This boxy is a box. It is not me. When you trap my identity in labels of gender, regional feature, skin colour, this body makes me feel like a prisoner.
A boundary is a lesson in consent. It’s rooted in a sense of self. Who you are, says what you allow.
I was an English-speaking/writing poet in a sea of people who defined patriotism by their own language. I wrote about my journey of patriotism through language.
If you were born in another era, who would you be? What would your personality be like? Your values? How would you survive that world? What role would you play?
Two strangers who once were not. Or were they?
Some nights are a turquoise tango, some days are an orange solo.
If you were in drag, what would you be like? And where does the drag stop and where begins your identity?
Nobody feels safe right now. Why is it okay for one to weaponise their pain? It’s an unhealthy way to get through the day.
Inside my pockets, I keep pieces of courage, to reach for when I need them.
Nila soru.
Food eaten under the moon.
Food shared with the moon.
Nila soru.