Boxes
A brunette walks into a box
A black man walks into a box
A feminist walks into a box
A queer walks into a box
A blonde, a brunette, and a redhead...
I have been objectified and vilified
By leering eyes
And hateful lines
Insisting it doesn’t matter what’s in my mind
See, you’ve made me a specter in my own home
My body an open house for you to peruse
I’m stumbling through the rooms
Trying to find refuge
For a poet caught in the crossfire of image and thought unused
Why did the feminist cross the road?
Because sometimes fighting for your rights means you have to make a few lefts
Girls are encouraged to speak their minds but criticized for not constructing to social paradigms.
We’ve been pushed against the wall like cardboard cut-outs in movie theater halls
Getting paid 70 cents to each dollar, regardless of degree or gall.
People write on the lines because they’re scared of what’s between them.
Please, don’t imprison me in this sentiment
We talk about freedom like it's currency we can trade and bargain with
Shoved into the spaces between our hearts and our heads
Tossing around the word free like it’s bolted behind the ballot box
Judging each other, not by the contents of our brain-stems but what anatomical wrecking ball rests between our legs.
Its not new age. Its common sense.
What did the Black man say to the jail cell?
I am the wall in which you lie on, rely on,
a neglected form of support that once pushed you forward.
A designed facade of strength, pride and, glory.
I am the young black male that society has deem to fail, or fallen.
I can hear the voices of the iron bars calling,
Come here, occupy my space,
exchange your name for a number, your clothes for a jumpsuit.
Provide me with the key to your mind, unshackle me from this cell of mankind
I do not want a roommate with the last name of Type and first name of Stereo.
Knock-knock. Who’s there?
A queer. Don’t laugh. It’s not an insult. It is an identity broad enough to bathe in. An all-encompassing ocean, waters freely intersecting with all others.
I am not what you think of as “male”
Uncomfortable with the term “gay man”
I have decided to join the movement that is making a positive word out of a derogatory statement.
I am a student, a barista, a leader, an intern, a lover, a writer, a boyfriend, and a son.
But like everyone else, I have no idea how to do this.
I do not have it all worked out.
I am not your wonder-child-messiah-martyr-combination-social-pariah.
I cannot contain all of these obligations I have been given today.
But I am so much more than any of my parts.
So much more than just a man...
or a woman, a gender, or a race
Take me as I am. . .
Jenni
Candace
Clarence
Garen
Do not force me into a box
I won’t fit
between these edges and lids, corners and walls
I ain’t no Tupperware
This ain’t no Tupperware party, you can’t buy and mix and match pieces and parts of me
Maybe I’m a matryoshka doll
With many faces
over other faces
I want to unpack
Not be delivered to whatever doorstep you deem appropriate
This is not a postal service
This is social claustrophobia at its finest
Do not care so much about what others think of you
Be careful of what you think of others
Boxes by Candace Riggs, Donnette Ritchie, Garen Neil Whitmore, Clarence Wright, and Jenni Zellner
