Homogeneous.

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.

Resolve.

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 

to make my mark.

I'll take what's mine, long overdue;
I'll fight the urge to run and hide.
I choose to live—

and it's a beautiful feeling

to know that I have grown.

Alpha.

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.

Mamta.

Your strained voice
cries out to me, like the sage sitar.
It sings a sobering song
that transports me through sand.

Suddenly, a memory of your
loving care becomes so real.

I watch, awestruck,
as you took my tears
then weaved them into cloth.
Embroidered with golden silks
you pulled from the fabric
of your heart.

We never had much,
but your patience had me convinced
you were the palace in which we lived.

I exhale—only the warmth of love
and adoration escapes from my lungs;
in you, we have the stars.

Despite the struggle,
we only ever tasted the sweet saffron
you skillfully slipped into our souls.

Shalimar is in you;
my mother IS a Taj Mahal.
Her every breath's a nectar;
it is cardamom's caress.

I would reanimate a hundred thousand times
just to relive the splendour of her shadow;
it was the sunrise of my lifetime.

I would relive every sadness behind my eyes
just to breathe the soothing citrus-scented air
of her orange grove.

I have never come so close to saintliness,
and I can soundly say
my spirit has never been the same.