Normalized into Nothingness

The stigmas we put on ourselves,

the one my family tree placed on me.

The kinds that were taught generation

to generation.

Kept on the bedside table told every night

before I went to sleep.

Whispered the sound near my cheek,

yet begging my ear not to hear,

these stigmas that have lingered

far longer than my existence.

This presence of mine, I

hope it shows you how wrong you are

to ever think that you are fine

abiding the concepts of the archive.

The archaic introduction, embraced --

orthodox, unreplaced --

ignoring and enabling --

these stigmas lingered

until they became the norm.

Norm that oppresses,

norm that expects,

norm that generalizes,

norm that wishes for me to be something

I do not want to be.

Norm that forces me to kiss his feet,

and beg for a new opportunity.

Norm that makes me cry at night and

hug the sheets that lay over me

because I can never take them for granted --

it is not my choice whether or not they cover me.

Norm that begs me to find a flaw

in myself

and fix it. Norm that asks for my forgiveness,

yet refuses to change.

Norm that is the stigma,

that refuses to go away.


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