Kash Baloch — Poetry on Identity, Love, and Survival

I found you unconscious, foaming at the mouth. Failed to resuscitate you, before my screams filled the house. You were more than my sister, you were my confidante, as well. And since you crossed over, my life has been Hell. At least we were together, holding hands, for a quarter of a century. All I can do now is accept that you are no longer here with me.

Carrying her sorrows in silken sac, unwavering whilst weaving wildly. Under sombre sun and callous cloud, she spits and hisses, feeling jilted. Centuries since she's been hopeful, eight eyes, wide open, filled with wonder. Mourning every almost happy ending crushed each time she lost a blessing. Scarlet letters sealed her fate as a spinster, wrongfully accused of eating men for dinner. Society classified her as a sinner, once jade and emerald, now a black widow. So she spun her salience armed for battle; no army could have anticipated her arrival. Adorned in a coat made of her ex-lovers; Hell hath no fury like the venom inside her.

His arms unencumbered me, removing all signs of weakness, seasick though I was, I somehow survived through stormy season.  A whisper, a glimmer; strategic breaths that kissed my neck. A runner, a sprinter, only he could rescue me from wreck.  Inside my tattered mind, two wrongs could never make a right, until he blessed me with his Francophony that made me blossom overnight.

They often called me yellow— marigold and mustard bellied. Only my fear was ever apparent, even after naked wars against the winter. The cold burned like waxen candles— it left my jaundiced skin searing all summer. Gayness was a crisply-cool deathwish that rippled right below the surface, until I realized all I could do was live my truth in earnest. And in spite of my reserved nature— this itch refused to be removed. So there I was, this peacock, with his coat of many colours, wide open to assault, that accosted me like splinters. Inner-city youth turned circuit kid adorned in glitter— I have worn many faces, though the kindest ones appeared upon my sisters.  Displaced, I lost many races yet somehow still remained a winner; I salvaged scraps of shrapnel though society classified me as a sinner.  I am me—the sum of my parts; sexuality could never render me a victim.

I was not made to falter; weakness looks better on other men. And every time I hit the ground is just a chance to build my fortress walls anew. When my city crumbles, it does not mean that it will never thrive again. I refuse to listen to the protests of my insecurities that urge I quit while I'm afraid. They may be ferocious beasts, but I will not back down that easily. This time—I choose to live! I will not come undone. So what if I sometimes slip and sprain my resolve, .I know I'm not the only one. The moment has finally arrived where I stand and fight, and face my demons head on. I won't give up, I'll soldier on until I've crossed the finish line. I will stumble forward  long after the race has been won. My late arrival to the ball is no reason to sulk backstage; the show must go on. I choose to live! I won't give in. My stubborn heart will not stop  for anyone. I carry on, I am quite strong. The day has come for me ...

I'm the Alpha, the Omega,  you're played out like Sega.   Genesis—originator;  nemesis, you're just a hater.  Delusional;  you're no prophet, sis.  I am opulent,  you're the opposite.   Alif Laam Ra,  When I hit you with the ha;  Hey Ali Baba, this is the return of Jafar. When he does his magic tricks, just avert your gaze, before it's too late  and you're all  ablaze.   This false leader's lies  end in fiery graves;  couldn't even lead a pencil  'cause he's that depraved.   Ankh ankh, bitch;  just move out the way— better save your soul  before that judgment day.   You can call upon Ra,  or even email Anubis,  no God would save you now,  but I bet you already knew this.