Don’t touch your hair”
“Leave it be”
“Please, it’s the least you could do for me”
“You should fix it up, pull it back”
Unfortunately, I don’t give a crap
That’s a lie
I do
But I wish it were true
To an extent, I wish I didn’t feel the need to please you
Better yet, I wish you were already pleased seeing that I’m a freaking adult at eighteen and the worst I’ve done is do my own hair how I like
But God forbid I look like a
Homosexual
Yes, that’s the root of the problem
The root’s not my roots but the message that’s on them
Don’t act like it’s a matter of me looking a mess When you just don’t want me looking like I like the same sex
But the funny thing is, in a twisted type of way, Is that the way I do my hair isn’t even seen as gay
Because styles have changed
But your mind stays delayed by the dated display
that you’ve framed in your brain
Of how queers ought to look And how straights ought to not And you sneer at the thought
Of me donning my locks
And you argue I’ve had it my way for so long But with tact I respond that it’s been your way longer
And when my sharp counters have pierced through your armor, you say
I’ve my mother and father dishonored
“You’re wrong.”
With no reason or logic to back it
Not even a Scriptural basis intact
And it’s frustrating, keeping my feelings compact For I fear I’ll reveal what I cannot retract
Still the arguments play and replay in my head And my hair hears it all as they seep out my skull,
All the things I would say if I wasn’t afraid Of you knowing for certain I’m bisexual
Because yes, it’s the hair,
But it’s mainly the principle
That at a whim you’d consider restrictable
Anything worn by me lacking conformity
To your old cultural notions of normalcy
Yet, put aside the strong words and strong feelings
I know that you love me regardless of being
a mess in the hair and the head and the heart
And the last thing you want is us falling apart
But the things that you say,
They do not go unheeded
Dig holes in my head and keep feeding the seedlings
of doubt that are housed in my cranial planter
War waged on my roots,
I do not know the answer
If you were to somehow remove from my being
All traces of queerness,
Including the things
That make up who I am
My mannerisms and language
My poems and loves and the faith they instated
If given this gift knowing what you’d have lost,
Would you care to look back,
Would the change be enough,
If I looked how you wanted, forsook half my love,
Would you miss who I was or be glad it was done?
This poem speaks for itself. When I first had the idea for this poem, these two lines came to me:
“Let me make me a mess”
and
“Would you even miss me or would you just try to fix me?”
I didn’t get to incorporate them exactly, but you can see the lines where I drew from them.
The first several stanzas came easily to me, but a little bit past the halfway point I experienced a writer’s block… and then another, and then another. Each time I thought I was going to finish the poem, another idea came to me and another stanza formed. Yesterday I finally finished the poem and I’m proud of how it came out. I feel like I was able to incorporate all my feelings about this situation into the poem, the good and the not-so-good. I know this may be a shared experience around those in the LGBTQ+ community, especially teenagers and young adults who depend on their parents, so I hope this poem helps those who may be feeling the same way as I am. Hang in there and be proud of your roots.
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