Stockholm Skin
Blood of Lima
An agitation and a quieting
The shiny next link on a chain billions of years taught
My body is a word people are getting familiar with but not using right
I am holding a portion of the world
It is a firm grasp yet a gentle one
I am master of what I can manipulate
I stand and face the light
I earnestly walk towards it
I am nurturing the innate.
My body can’t be defined by your binary. My body says
why the hell do you expect billions of people to fit into two categories? My body says
I do not “have the best of both worlds.” I have the best of myself.
I twirl my hair like I’m making candy. I pull it out like I’m made of metaphors. I’m biting your tongue. You’re biding my time. Years of miscommunication, disparate conversation. I down another disappointment and build another boundary for greedy hands to push and for me to cower behind.
I am caught in between, or rather, I exist there comfortably. Wedged in, or rather, nestled, right where I was born. Some don’t see me as whole. Others see me as a hole—in their ideology.