Pride
we are
Violet to Red
and more
so much more
I am
the very softly
uttered word
missed after a
blocky sentence
I am
sand dust
flying in the air
over a moody
lone sea crest
neither here nor there
all of here
all of there
mostly beyond
See me-
I am light
that stays in the
room
when candles
exhaust
Who am I?
some part,
we all are,
fluctuating
I do
I celebrate
my non-binary
yonderness
with water colors
spilling
out of the contours
marking the edges
of this world
Into the blue-
flailing
towards you,
fidgeting inside
you,
following
that note
missed by
music lovers
held by
mother music
with trust
Who am I? I am the nail scratches of a desperate child on a wooden floor, Later, kept in museums as irreplaceable carvings. You know who I am? I am the most calm-controlled-prolonged shout coming from the back of our cupboards — behind the jewels, the hefty coats, the preserved love letters, the mighty array of things we need to cover ourselves. I am prose sitting in the middle of a poem. We plaited-
together.
~
inspired by Guérin Asante poem Prism
