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
A Friend from a Far
6/29/2020 02:17:56 am
Maybe it’s the fact that it’s 5am here or that I’ve watched endless hours of Grey's Anatomy but reading your poem made me feel less alone and more alert. It gave insight of how society does shift our understanding of coming out-even though it shouldn’t, it truly does- and that we have so much to learn. With our knowledge we have choices to make and your poem embodies what you continually choose to do. Thank you for sharing ♥️
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Samirah
6/29/2020 10:48:21 pm
Thank you so much for this 💚💙💚 comments like this are why I write.
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About MeMy 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. |