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I want to have control of strings that are mine

Why me?

I sat and slept in a room,

Where all my hopes from life flew away and reached the moon.

I chose the same place to bloom,

To fight away the feeling of being a cartoon.

I was afraid a while ago to say out loud,

that men are raped too.

But the sooner I got separated from the crowd,

Who considers strong men as the default,

I was able to see the whole view.

I won’t deny the time when

Months of continuous assault broke my future apart.

But I stabbed my pain with the weapon

Of patience which gave a lesson to my heart.

People and their questions make me wonder,

Does anybody’s orientation invite a rapist?

“Because you seem gay” – thunder!

Every inch of hope was lost under a mist.

The way I walk, talk, express, and hawk.

Selling kindness to all.

With restless claps of my trans sisters in the dark,

To bless and wish for every person as I recall.

The problem of mine I must now mention,

Shattering down in two situations is all I see.

First is, when I don’t get the answer to my question.

Why did this happen to me?

Is it because of me? This is the next question that I need your attention.

Second, I don’t know whom I should blame for all this.

My parents, who might not have given me the best parenting?

Or maybe it can be society,

Who underestimates the pain of a man over the assault of a miss?

But it can also be me who didn’t raise a voice against this state of tainting.

Pride is not just a palette of colors, but a movement,

One must not regard a person’s identity with their actions

Coz, we have both, love in heart with justice staying on rent

Neither criminal nor the victim

Are meant to act on the basis of their orientation.

My mother said to me, “I will not leave him”

‘Just let it go’, was my only suggestion.

I just have to say

With some unanswered questions that I go through.

That equality is, treating the problems of all genders equally,

And, trying to not forget that queer people are raped too.

I wrapped my pain up

Among the sleeves of my queer folks

To help myself notice a huge lump

Of scars on their hands because of heavy cuffs.

I stand here, to speak for them

Who can’t for some or other reason speak

“Oh, the people with privilege, let us also shine,

For we are treated as puppets; I want to have control of strings that are mine”.

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