The Story behind this Poem: I came out to my mom and she took it well. I told people I don't want to make it a big deal. People were quick to tell me it is a big moment, and I should feel proud of myself and proud of her. I say it was a buildup of educating my mom for over a year - there were many moments, and this one is simply another. Then people tell me they're proud of my whole journey, and this moment is a culmination of the others - a finish line. But why is coming out to parents seen as a finish line? A finish line of what? Bravery? I was just as brave in every moment before. Honesty? I was already honest with myself. Openness? Not everyone deserves my openness. Freedom? Socially and systemically, we have a long way to go before total qtpoc liberation. A world where I must teach my mother how to love me is not fully free. A world where I must engage in constant arguments and emotional abuse for the sake of her growth, is not fully free. I say this because coming out to parents is not everyone's finish line. I challenge that society sees it that way. My story is just one example why. There's many others. There many people who don't have a good relationship with their parents, people who have abusive parents, people who don't have parents, people who aren't willing to be a target, people who live under more oppressive governments, or simply people who don't want to come out to their parents. There doesn't even have to be a reason. It doesn't have to be your finish line. I still see you. You represent pride. I wrote this poem the day after the final step of coming out to my mom, when life went on the same. I wrote it during the slow morning shift of my bar, as I work most days. I scribbled onto my napkin - "I am not free till we are all free. That's my only finish line." The Poem:
COMING OUT IS NOT MY FINISH LINE You see me now, but what about before? I was still me, always me, Always ready To hold my mom’s hand and lead her forward, Out of homophobia, and back to me. I was the one pulling her forward. I was the one who never gave up on her. Now that we're here, you act as if I reached this finish line - but why? Why is this the line of how you measure My liberation? I was out to myself Regardless of her, I was living bravely In every step, Every move, Even in my lies, Even when I hide, There is a fire in my eyes, Love burning in my heart, & resistance in my mind. So don’t you tell me this moment defines me. My bravery is not defined by what my mom deserves to know about me. My pride is not defined by how many others I carry across this finish line, By how many minds I change, or hearts I gain. Even if it was just me, across this finish line, Out to myself, and nobody else, Still know, that is enough. Today, I carried my mom across this finish line. I know she agreed to take my hand, but most of the labor of love was mine. If I hadn’t, if I wasn’t willing - If the only ones who join me here are ones who educate themselves, then still, know that is enough. I am enough. This finish line does not measure me. My mother, maybe, But even then, I don’t blame her for the failure of society. When I carried my mom across this line, I did it alone, without support, While she trusted me, closed her eyes & opened her mind. While I respect her for her internal work, I do not forget the physical work was all mine. Now that we're both across this finish line, you clap and cheer “love wins.” That’s fine, but never forget - This burden shouldn’t be mine. This is your finish line - It’s not mine. If I wasn’t willing to shoulder this burden, Would you still Hold me in pride? Did you think to ask me Where I’m going? Pinch me, This is not my dream. It’s society’s. Maybe one day, You’ll wake up and see. There were moments I almost dropped her, The constant fights too much to bear, If I had, would you blame me? For deciding My life should be easy? A world that makes me sweat for a mother’s love Is not a world I love. I am not free Till we are all free. I won’t settle at coming out. Why settle at shouting out on top of roofs built for you, When we can take it to the street? I am not free Till we are all free. I won't settle for society's idea of pride. I agitate and keep my drive. PRIDE was a riot, not your prize. I am not free Till we are all free. I am not free Till all QTPOC Can live their lives Without carrying others over finish lines, Without putting their lives on the line. I am not free Till we are all free. That is my only Finish line. -Samirah Boomi
2 Comments
This poem explores snakes and divine femininity. The snake is said to represent feminine energy (Kundalini, S curves, seduction), and is often demonized (dishonest, spineless, Slytherin). I don't think it's a coincidence. She fans out her pain,
And displays herself bare, baring chipped but thirsty fangs And dry but alive hair. She channels hopelessness Into a current of rage. Determined to please no-one She pleads with the rain, For a lending hand Or a flash of lightning, A rumble of thunder To signal change is coming. In the morning, She’ll wash down the blood with nectar Wrung out from depths of the ocean Purified with Snake venom. As sweet revenge trickles down her forked tongue, A pure release slithers up her spine. The time for the divine feminine has come to rise - unshackled and revived. For the first time, She’ll soften her stride, & don fresh white. Not to hide her body, But take in the beauty Blooming around the world For once. -Samirah Shri I am a force of vulnerability. Try to tell me you don’t see me The first few times, I may recede, But the next time, I’m a tsunami. I am a force of vulnerability. I am the waves who chose to pull back before they rear up & crash on the backs Of those who don’t carry the spine To take on a piece of my mind. I am a force of vulnerability. I’m not feisty. I’m a tsunami.
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This is my most personal poem by far. This is about the veneer that shrouds my mom’s and my relationship. Often, it makes me feel unseen, and other times, it’s my saving grace. This veneer gives me needed boundaries, and lets my mom preserve her image. // It may look like we’re in the all clear, But one more straw could tear the veneer. // There’s moments where the veneer rips, too fragile to hold back our emotions. The reality tears me up, and I frantically grasp for the veneer once again. Masking and unmasking is a vicious cycle in our relationship. It hurts like hell. It also cocoons us with a temporary sense of safety. // I want to reach out and clear the air, But I’ve come to rely on our veneer. // My pieces are usually more polished & empowering, but this one is raw. Please be gentle with it. |
It may appear that we’re all clear
But one more straw could tear the veneer.
Between her tears, she reveals her fears -
“Am I destined to suffer because you’re my daughter?
Why can’t you listen? Are all my efforts in vain?”
Why do you glare at me with unshed tears?
Is your ego wrapped up in this veneer?
Anger in my veins, I reveal my pain –
“How the hell is you trying enough?
When you tell me that I’m not enough?”
But one more straw could tear the veneer.
Between her tears, she reveals her fears -
“Am I destined to suffer because you’re my daughter?
Why can’t you listen? Are all my efforts in vain?”
Why do you glare at me with unshed tears?
Is your ego wrapped up in this veneer?
Anger in my veins, I reveal my pain –
“How the hell is you trying enough?
When you tell me that I’m not enough?”
I want to reach out and clear the air,
But I’ve come to rely on our veneer.
Amma, it hurts me to tell you
That you gave up dreams,
But you didn’t need to.
All I need is for you to see me,
Tear through the veneer of society.
But I’ve come to rely on our veneer.
Amma, it hurts me to tell you
That you gave up dreams,
But you didn’t need to.
All I need is for you to see me,
Tear through the veneer of society.
We look at each-other with a new fear,
Can we go back to the veneer?
Amma, what you built to survive,
I must hack down to thrive.
This is the chasm that tears us apart,
That wedges splinters in your heart.
As I tear down each layer,
your eyes widen in fear.
As the space between us widens,
The place I hold you heightens.
Can we go back to the veneer?
Amma, what you built to survive,
I must hack down to thrive.
This is the chasm that tears us apart,
That wedges splinters in your heart.
As I tear down each layer,
your eyes widen in fear.
As the space between us widens,
The place I hold you heightens.
When I look at you across this rift,
this culture shift, continental drift,
I know nothing’s more powerful than a mother’s gift.
But it’s my turn to gift generations next.
this culture shift, continental drift,
I know nothing’s more powerful than a mother’s gift.
But it’s my turn to gift generations next.
-Samirah Shri
Grandma, did you think to work
before selling your gold?
Or did you assume your worth
Was only at home?
Did you want a better life
that could be,
Or was there no other option
you could see?
Did you choose to play the card
Or was it forced out of your hand?
What would you have done
If you had no backup plan?
Was it the freedom of a dream,
Or the fright of a nightmare?
before selling your gold?
Or did you assume your worth
Was only at home?
Did you want a better life
that could be,
Or was there no other option
you could see?
Did you choose to play the card
Or was it forced out of your hand?
What would you have done
If you had no backup plan?
Was it the freedom of a dream,
Or the fright of a nightmare?
If you weren’t born with gold,
what power did you hold?
If you didn’t nod along
to your husband’s old
Ideas of your place
& space you could take?
Where did you feel safe?
They say old is gold,
but maybe gold is an old
system of power
that still has its hold
what power did you hold?
If you didn’t nod along
to your husband’s old
Ideas of your place
& space you could take?
Where did you feel safe?
They say old is gold,
but maybe gold is an old
system of power
that still has its hold
But gold resists wear
how women resist abuse,
It’s shine can’t be lost,
only covered in misuse
Invest in yourself &
Your value grows stronger.
You’re not a temporary
Bloom of a flower.
My skin shines gold,
Black eyes aren’t cold,
They sparkle bold, &
I won’t be told or sold
that beauty is defined
by the ones who mold
Their power to a whip,
and tighten their grip
On their hold of those
they push below.
how women resist abuse,
It’s shine can’t be lost,
only covered in misuse
Invest in yourself &
Your value grows stronger.
You’re not a temporary
Bloom of a flower.
My skin shines gold,
Black eyes aren’t cold,
They sparkle bold, &
I won’t be told or sold
that beauty is defined
by the ones who mold
Their power to a whip,
and tighten their grip
On their hold of those
they push below.
Gold like the color my skin glows,
Gold like the power they hold.
Gold like the jewelry she sold
Twenty-two shades of gold
with too many contexts to unfold
Is it too heavy to hold?
But it’s weight is something
You can’t deny. You can try,
But our foremothers testify
To fly despite its weight
and because it shines light,
On the chains on their necks
flashing bright as they fight.
Even on your darkest night
when you lose sight of your fight,
You’re standing on their shoulders,
closer to the sunlight.
Gold like the power they hold.
Gold like the jewelry she sold
Twenty-two shades of gold
with too many contexts to unfold
Is it too heavy to hold?
But it’s weight is something
You can’t deny. You can try,
But our foremothers testify
To fly despite its weight
and because it shines light,
On the chains on their necks
flashing bright as they fight.
Even on your darkest night
when you lose sight of your fight,
You’re standing on their shoulders,
closer to the sunlight.
-Samirah Shri
Did you think it was funny
to police femininity?
Was impressing the guys
worth stripping your humanity?
You saw her face and snickered,
then gripped your friend’s shoulder
To lean closer & whisper –
Look at her! Do you see her
Mustache! It’s not a whisper
if you meant for her to hear.
Her face remained measured,
but blood rushed to her head.
Her eyes couldn’t be read,
but hot tears hid
behind her glare
because she wouldn’t dare
Give them the reward
that she cared.
Once she got home,
she looked at her face with suspicion
Then next to a comb,
she eyed mom’s Nair cream potion.
She snatched the tube,
grabbed a tissue,
unscrewed the top,
but then withdrew.
It was brand-new -
Her mom would know
she broke through.
But one look in the mirror
cleared her vision.
She didn’t care for permission,
she had a mission.
She cut into the seal,
pushed the cream through,
Then read the instructions
to completion.
Nair said 3-5 minutes
but she left it for seven,
Already knowing it hadn’t
been written for brown women.
She said beauty is pain,
femininity is pain,
But it’s better than shame
for veering off their lane.
she looked at her face with suspicion
Then next to a comb,
she eyed mom’s Nair cream potion.
She snatched the tube,
grabbed a tissue,
unscrewed the top,
but then withdrew.
It was brand-new -
Her mom would know
she broke through.
But one look in the mirror
cleared her vision.
She didn’t care for permission,
she had a mission.
She cut into the seal,
pushed the cream through,
Then read the instructions
to completion.
Nair said 3-5 minutes
but she left it for seven,
Already knowing it hadn’t
been written for brown women.
She said beauty is pain,
femininity is pain,
But it’s better than shame
for veering off their lane.
But as she grew older,
she channeled hurt into anger
Because anger fuels change
and ignites belief in better.
So when you cry that you can’t cry,
from your throne of patriarchy
Then turn around and blame womxn
for being “too angry”
Don’t forget the girl you teased
in 8th grade PE,
Who’s still reliving &
unlearning your bully.
But as she grew older,
she channeled hurt into anger
Because anger fuels change
and ignites belief in better.
So when you cry that you can’t cry,
from your throne of patriarchy
Then turn around and blame womxn
for being “too angry”
Don’t forget the girl you teased
in 8th grade PE,
Who’s still reliving &
unlearning your bully.
If you think it’s funny to police femininity
To invade her energy with your insecurity
of a masculinity that reeks of toxicity,
we’ll get you away from our reality.
To invade her energy with your insecurity
of a masculinity that reeks of toxicity,
we’ll get you away from our reality.
To all the womxn of contradictions,
who are labeled moody or inconsistent,
You trespass the limits of their perception,
You don’t fit a box, you’re omnipresent.
-Samirah Shri
who are labeled moody or inconsistent,
You trespass the limits of their perception,
You don’t fit a box, you’re omnipresent.
-Samirah Shri
They say Bad Asian Daughters
are Family Dividers,
but bad Asian daughters
are Pan-Asian Fighters.
RAISA
She stole glances at Naomi
behind her glasses,
Wishing they’d hang
outside of classes.
“I don’t like her” she claimed,
“I just want to be her”
Her friend rolled her eyes -
“If you say so, sure.”
She found the courage to send
Naomi a text
Then ghosted her, afraid
to confront what it meant.
She liked girls -
that was easy to answer,
But did that make her
a bad Asian daughter?
KARINA
“Another round!” she cooed,
presenting a shot,
As the brown skinned charmer
behind the bar.
“I can’t resist Chinese girls,”
the man leered,
Thinking this line would get
her in his car.
“Cambodian”, she said,
and her smile didn’t falter
till she turned around
and gulped down her water.
She fed her toddler right,
but yearned each night,
to go back to being
a bad Asian daughter.
She stole glances at Naomi
behind her glasses,
Wishing they’d hang
outside of classes.
“I don’t like her” she claimed,
“I just want to be her”
Her friend rolled her eyes -
“If you say so, sure.”
She found the courage to send
Naomi a text
Then ghosted her, afraid
to confront what it meant.
She liked girls -
that was easy to answer,
But did that make her
a bad Asian daughter?
KARINA
“Another round!” she cooed,
presenting a shot,
As the brown skinned charmer
behind the bar.
“I can’t resist Chinese girls,”
the man leered,
Thinking this line would get
her in his car.
“Cambodian”, she said,
and her smile didn’t falter
till she turned around
and gulped down her water.
She fed her toddler right,
but yearned each night,
to go back to being
a bad Asian daughter.
A brown skinned charmer,
Her smile didn’t falter,
Till she turned around
& gulped down her water.
IN UNISON
They claim “Bad” Asian daughters
are family dividers,
But “Bad” Asian daughters
ae Pan-Asian fighters.
We reclaim the pain,
erase the shame.
We will not win,
we’ll break the game.
We reclaim the pain,
erase the shame.
We will not win,
we’ll break the game.
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0 - My Best Work
1 - Reject & Rebel
2 - Heal & Grow
3 - Redefine & Empower
About Me
My name is Samirah Shri. I write poetry especially for "bad" Asian daughters, but also for anyone who feels rejected within their communities. My poems guide you along my personal journey of rejection, healing, and ultimately re-connection.