I’m queer but not queer enough for queer poetry slams

Despite I regularly cannabalize on myself

To write poems on everything that makes me a person,

I need to undo validation as a currency ,

So I store the words like amatanormativity, allonormativity, queerplatonic

At tips of my tongue and fingers.

I’ll create, not because allo-cis-het individuals can make space.

So, here I pour-

The first time I heard about asexuality

I tried to kill the concept with wombling palms,

The second time I read about asexuality

I donned it like Diwali lights around my ribcage.

I ran after sex like children after a cut kite

Maybe that’s why I only remember chasing it, dreading it.

I’m aro ace

And My lack of romantic attraction made me a second class citizen in my family

But my comfort story comes from a language of people who could read stars-

When Hagar could survive with nothing but muttered prayer on her lips

Then, I can make my way as a queer Muslim in 21 st century

But my friend thinks I’ve been coughing words

Like stray coins lost to history

To make myself feel special, the-not-lile-other-girls fashion.

But I like the word 'q-u-e-e-r'

It identifies the parts of me I've been hiding since childhood.

Vanity stormed in a monsoon without tears

For I was well known as good Indian girl with no cardinal desires

Only to learn I’m just aro ace, no special grace.

At times, I’m so alone without any boyfriend or girlfriend

That longing hits me in the space between my ribs

Telling me that my realization was nothing but a festival of lights

Which must pass

I gotta be Ram walking out Sita away from the city I rule

But being with someone feels like spring clouded by smoke

And I’ve never enjoyed anything more than being not-alloromantic and not-allosexual.

What I want is a room

Without eyes to brand me,

I’ll start a crazy rabbit lady trend

And be ummared by monogamous system.