Violet Times
Being asexual has often made me feel invisible and isolated. This poem is about coming out, having my existence invalidated, fearing rejection from my religion, and, ultimately, self-acceptance in the face of that violence.
Purple is a door
A start
A shelter
A seat at the table
Full of hearts that made this home
And hands that guided me
Through willow trees;
Like a homing beacon or a blaring foghorn,
Highlighting the path to a healthy mind
And the importance being honest
About hazards we find
In houses we mourn.
Purple is a plate of armor
A sword
A shield
A security blanket
That holds power and protection,
As it does not disguise
But signifies
A meaning that’s permanent in its pertinence
Yet only embodied by the subject,
Assuring me that I have the right to
Protest when you object
To my existence.
Purple is a cloak
A sanctum
A secret
A set of shutters I close
To hide from disapproving glares
Without losing my grace.
Gloating faces,
Glowering from high towers engraving praxis,
Grip their faith too tight to doubt mores that
Glorify those who dismiss their guilt with
Vain gestures while they’re at
Gatekeeping practice.
Purple is a megaphone
A shout
A storm
A sound that resounds
When I refuse to disappear.
I’ll drown out your damning
While you’re trying
To dismember me to reshape a memory.
I yell “I am enough” and rip my lungs
In pieces because I am not yours to
Redeem like a wish from
A dream factory.
About the Creator
Remi Akers
Remi is a poet and Young Adult fantasy/contemporary writer. They are a nonbinary demi-androromantic asexual who has chronic pain and fatigue. They like to write all things dark, queer, and cozy.
Keep reading
More stories from Remi Akers and writers in Poets and other communities.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.