My people
are everywhere,
yet,
they are
thrown into the crack of the sidewalks
where the
ants bite into any chards of nourishment.
My people
will cut you,
yet,
they will
defend a total stranger.
My people
oscillate between love and hate,
yet,
they will
embrace anyone who wants help.
My people fit
the stereotypes when needed,
yet,
they live to
tussle around their own identities
in the face
of confusion.
My people are
not supposed to survive,
yet,
they
constantly define resilience.
My people
may fall to the words of the unfortified pupil,
yet,
we still
stay strong.
My people
are here.
My people
are queer.
My people
are people.
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