Rainbow Boy

I am a boy who braids a rainbow of chrysanthemums,

My brain a pantheon of spring eternal,

And a mansion residing under celluloid,

Across a thin divide that breaks my gender down

And then surrenders every wrong pronoun and stereotype.

I try to visualize prophets that harmonize cologne

And acetone, who choose to carry home a human not defined by chromosome;

I pick up on my trembling palm, a bud of tingling palm,

My pillow warring with demonic holograms;

Certain magic is cocooned in carving lullabies within balloons;

I wash my wounds in shirts of baby pink and corduroys;

I am a boy.

I am a boy who smells of peppermint and morning brush,

And through his dawn and dusk, in saree, reads a cooking omnibus.

A soaring dominance of condescending glances I receive;

The ones that highly grieve are launched from staunch assumptions preconceived.

They hurt, I heal.

It's not my fault I chose a Barbie o'er the Man of Steel;

It's not my fault I like to cook and you forgot your grain of salt;

It's not my fault you want to thwart the ways of reason

And distort the prison of my sex while you abort my female counterpart;

And summer laughs in scorn as you respond to normalcy with paragon,

And winter sheds a tear as you abuse my friend for his attire.

And I admire my bequeathed superior place, with an ulterior distate,

And you sever in two my brittle, woven braids.

I pick them up and add them to the relics on my wall.

It's blessed of me to be among the privileged of them all.

This is me, a boy who braids chrysanthemums in rainbows,

And climbs on marshmallow treehouses when he finds the gate closed.

This is me, who wants to help, but finds his sex disgusting;

This is gently rusting drops of twisted lust,

And this is hatred thrust into a cup of coffee-brown acceptance,

Morphine on repentance, tossing out the window effort on the effort at independence.

This is sin dependent on the superintendence of society over us,

A sentence ominous to slay variety with dominance;

Supremacist vomitus assuming prominence-

An octopus of heinous lie that turns a rock to dust- this one for us.

This one's for you, who prays for a better morning every night.

This one's for you, who wants to break their shackles of disguise;

Who wants to sanitize their day from judgement that does traumatize;

This one's for you who dreams of living and then wake up to survive- this one for life.

This one's for life, and people who desire one that's true.

I know you'll rise, and rainbow boy will love to rise with you.