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Writer's pictureNinh Dang

/Shoot! (Only if you want to)/

Here I am, standing right in front

of your guns / Shoot, only if you want to, because

the fire is only a pain

after the math – no calculations

can prepare you for the guilt / But, please, just


blast me open – if you want to

My body has been dismantled ever since I

opened the door for a stranger, and those legs for

less than a human being

So, please, with all your strength and pride

of a man,


open me up if you need to.


*

* *


See for yourself

along my arms

scars of tally marks

And I will show you

the art of

forgiving


*

* *


There is a price to everything, even to be less than physical

Or to be a shadow,

bóng – as in less than a human I am

bóng – as in the darkness I could be

bóng – as in not normal, not natural, and – therefore – cannot love

and cannot be loved

Because as the shadows grow, they become wings

and to be lifted above the ground is

to be free – and thus, there’s a price, even to freedom


*

* *


But trust me, I will read poems for you once I am free

The sweetness of rhyme

forgotten / Quiet is your maiden name – before

you were married

to society / When you are born, a mother

lost her daughter to a son. Thus, there are scars, called stretch marks


for we are all women while drowning


*

* *


I will kiss you, but you will be fine – all I can taste is the rust on your muzzle.


*

* *


There is rage, I know, and there is

pain. So, here I am – shoot me – not

because I want to fly with my silhouettes or

sleep under ethereal waves. Shoot

me, for you, to see the truth.


Make it rough. Make it

crimson. Make it stained. I can hear your

muffled cries. Let it out.


Let there be a kill. Let there be a martyr.

For there is a fag. And there is a poet.

Scream. Shout. Yell. You’re killing it!

Burn. Stone. Wall. That’s my man!!!

Promise not to miss. Promise not to chicken

out. Even if it echoes – the sound of bullets ricocheting.


*

* *


Cry – if needed. But, please, shoot!

(Only if you want to)


 

Artist Statement:


Despite its gruesome and direct approach, I hope this poem is an honest love letter to those looked down on by masculinity, and I sincerely wish it was not confessional to me.

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