Why can’t you understand my heart?

You’ve dug your nails into it,

clawing at its own fragility

encasing it in hazard tapes

as if it’s something to be locked away.

What’s so hazardous

if it goes against your own expectations?

You’ve coded me in ways where I am not myself.

I am not a product of your own manufacturing,

incompatible with your expectations.

I am thrown in a pit where

I am ‘faulty’ and ‘not-up-to-standards’.

Unwanted for what my own heart desires.

What don’t you understand, World?

My own identity is not something

that you can carve out with your beliefs.

A societal mold where I cannot fit.

I am not made out of clay –

you cannot etch your stereotypes into my skin

and manipulate me in ways I am not meant to be.

I. Am. Me.