A poem by Merwin Brown
If I were a woman, we wouldn’t be where we are now.
I wouldn’t be standing before you barely keeping my footing.
The foundation underneath me trembling at the admission that
clawed it’s way out of my throat.
If I were a woman this wouldn’t matter.
It would just be matter of fact
Because if I were a woman, my love wouldn’t have a label.
It would be as interchangeable as a pair of socks.
But, because I am a man, my sexuality is branded onto my persona.
My own personal scarlet letter of shame.
The point of no return.
If I were a woman, this would be your dream come true.
The thought of two women embracing sensually for whatever reason
is enough to cause the course of conversation
to flow to a different ocean.
If I said I wanted you, as I just painstakingly did,
you would want to join in right?
It’s every man’s fantasy to see a woman’s sexuality open
and close like a venus fly trap.
Men are willing victims to a woman’s path to sexual identity.
Yet, here I am.
A man in love who’s declaration had it’s wings clipped by denial,
misunderstanding, and double standards.
If I were a phoenix, this fire of unrequited love would only serve to
consume me and foster my beautiful rebirth
But I am not
And, for this reason alone, closets become coffins for black gay men.
This piece can be found in the Genre: Urban Arts Second Edition
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