not poetry.

I only want to exist in the cracks, in between two worlds, a perpetual tourist.

I only want to exist with limited beauty, sharp spikes, rough edges.

I only want to exist in more than one language, my emotions span across them, my thoughts run wild, without a place to call home.

I only want to exist as ink, a drop of me stains your fingertip for days.

I only want to exist as a piece of paper— blank, empty, held in protesters’ hands, no words & no sound. Fall on the floor upon their arrest, as if I had never existed.

(September 13, 2022)