Home makes you feel like you’re a stain.
Home makes you believe your body is an invasion, a cyst inhaling gun powder.
Home is a flood inside lungs that just learnt how to take in air.
Rainbow child is begged to erase the rainbow lines in between your teeth. Exist smaller. To hang his tongue and be mute.
Home is a razor that stands in between ‘disappear’ and amen.
Home, sometimes, is what tries to unmake us.
I know home, I have created it with my people with colours in between them.
Home is where I would be if I was not here.
You are constructing yourself anew.
Home is not an apology or a veil.
Home is how we exist as we like.
Is your heart beating from your throat in an empty street
Is the hate you have for your shaking hips when you see the men at the street corner
We must stay away from, there is a deadly virus and deadly vultures who have an appetite for children of the rainbow.
Whether I was in white. Black. Or blue – one of us could be dying somewhere or somehow.