Pansexual Spoken Word
It ain’t easy being Asian, finding the right occasion to have that talk — Dad we need to talk — talk with the man who’s always had a block between father and daughter ever since building blocks teaching me my ABCs, well the table’s turned now I have something to teach, not preach like all those other religious...well to each his own. We need to talk about something I’ve known for years, but I’ve lied, tried to hide and abide by your vision of a daughter with a closet filled with pink clothes, a sport without punches and blows and a future with a man cause that’s how life goes.
But not mine. No, not mine.
I’ve got a closet I can’t escape, bruises and scrapes from doing what I love, but when push comes to shove I’m gonna be strong because who I love won’t be wrong. He stares. He stares. As he stares I think of baby foot- steps on the stairs where he taught me to walk now we’re having this talk he doesn’t understand. I try to explain how I can love more than just a man, until nally it builds up and I scream, “I’M PAN!”
It’s like when you need to sneeze, then you breathe, cause you’re relieved that you blow your nose, now he knows what you chose life is full of those, choices we make, risks we take, no matter the heartache, cause it’s your life, not his, that’s just how it is. I forged my path, I’m no psychopath, do the math, add it up, “Dad, what’s up?,” “SHUT UP.”
No, I will no longer be silenced when I speak, I will no longer be called a freak. I’m not crazy, I’m not out of mind — I just managed to find that my love is gender blind. This is who I am or who I’ve been all along, it’s not wrong, it’s right, let’s not fight, Dad. This is me.
It’s a phase, it’ll fade, you’re nineteen, easily swayed by your peers, you have years to be made.
No Papa, I’m not nineteen. I’m fourteen. I’m a fourteen-year-old who after five years is finally showing her Papa who she is.