Heavy the head,
weighted with iron.
An anchor halts a ship,
arresting its mass.
Ceasing its race.
All clarity sinking into the murky
depths of a vast sea.
Heavy the heart,
burdened with stone.
A swift pain rises with each slab laid.
Breathing labored, chest tightening.
The animal prodded, thrust back,
again and again, into its cage.
To what is this weight owed?
Whom smithied the anchor?
Whom shaped the stone?
Constructing the shame of its unbearable
weight, as it presses upon the soul,
until the once cool and cleansing breaths end as though
they never were.
To what, to whom does the blame
of this weight fall?
As our studies in Queer Theory have progressed, I have come to see the many facets in which it exists, for so many peoples, including for myself. I was born with -- as well as came to develop further as I grew older -- disabilities that cannot be seen at the onset. Microphthalmia, Epilepsy, pieces of my physiology that I have been judged because of, shamed, made to see the "different", rather than allowed to see the "same." I felt the weight, I became friends with the sense of shame, familiar with its presence. It took many years of my life to break away from that friendship with shame, and there are times when I still struggle, and I wonder why and who made it so, in the perception of society, I was poised to be a person whom "didn't quite fit." These pieces made me who I am in so many ways, because they shaped me, molded me to view myself, and the world in a completely new way. It is in this societal perception of being "different" that I can connect with the many narratives of so many people whom have experienced it, too. I have come to realize that not fitting into a niche is really quite a beautiful thing, and in that realization, I have found that it is each of us whom bares a responsibility, thereby, to expand, to grow, to reshape our thinking and understanding to accept that there really are no niches at all, except those which were created by others for us.
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