My body freezes
Turning my pencil griped fingertips
To blocks of ice as I come across
The boxes
I wish I had brought a lighter with me
I wish I had burned that paper
I wish I had watched the white page
Turn Black from the fire
Watching the Black ash fall to the
White
Tile floor
My eyes ride the letters
“Check 1 box”
It pains me to think but I am not one box
No matter the pride sewn into me
No matter my crown jeweled with pain
“Just be yourself” shines in a beautiful purple jewel
“Be true to who you are” glows in a stunning red jewel
But myself is non-existent
Myself the Loch ness monster
Myself Bigfoot
Myself a baby pigeon
I am not self
I am selves
My selves protons and electrons
My selves blue and red
My selves the war
My self hates myself
How can I be whole?
When my selves
Are halves of
Two different puzzles
Questions arise in me like vomit
Acid burning my throat
Decaying my teeth
Rising like molten lava
It overflows
Who am I?
Which box do I check?
Which am I related to?
The slave?
Or
The master?
My back burns with lashes
But I find myself
holding the whip
My fingers ache from
picking the cotton
From the hate
The bloodlust
Of my master
From the fear
Of me
The hot comb
Grazes, my head
Burning down my heritage
For the pleasure
Of the descendants of master
I burn for the pleasure of
Me
Two boxes
Two people
Two identities
Two selves
Only allowed to check one
The slave
To the master
