Black Body, Queer Spirit

By: Tyree Jackson

I am one with who I am.
I own my black body
and I cherish my queer spirit.
In this world, I cannot deny
either, for they both have
equal claim to my existence.
Together and not separate,
black body, queer spirit.

Silence: noun, “Refusal or failure to speak out.”

My body, covered with the majestic colors of the rainbow.
The decisions I’ve made, engraved on stone—this is who I want to be.
My identity, concealed within cobble-stoned walls of my insecurities.
Unlaced from the very fabric I considered to be my home.
My mouth, filled with tar—I can’t tell my family the truth.
I can’t speak of it.
I faced the glare of those who disapprove of my existence.
Assorted taboos are thrown at my very difference like stones.
I am labeled derogatory words—words profoundly tattooed on my brain tissue.
The tears I’ve cried would spill over in cups.
The bruises’ I’ve endured would make healing impossible.
I can’t speak of it.
Torn between two worlds— however, forced to adapt to both.
My emotions drained; my hopes of liberation depleted; my dreams of existence, misplaced in the sands of time.
I can’t speak of it.
Let me break the silence.




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