I Am Not a Walking Incongruency
By
Radiance Angelina Petro
I am not a walking incongruency
Like I felt I was for so long.
This husky voice, this poorly covered
Five o’clock shadow, these shoulders,
Hands—and this–
This metallic-purple eyeshadow,
Creamy rose lipstick, this pink and gold glitter
You see in my hair and on my face,
This second-hand skirt and blouse,
These breasts, these turquoise painted fingernails—
This is all me. The one and only
Incongruency is you.
Just because I do not agree
With how you think I should look
Or be, or dress, does not make me
The one who is wrong. You
Are not even wrong, in the grand
Scheme of things. However
If you insist on allowing who I am
To grind against the ideas
Of who you think I should be,
Then we have a problem.
If you cannot open the little box
Of what you think you believe
Even a little to me—or even to the idea
Of me—and yet you pray, worship
Something other than yourself
Something you believe
To be omniscient, perfect, and
The very origin and creator
Of infinite variety and love, then you
Are the walking (stumbling)
Incongruency. You are
The one, whose box—
Whose cramped, little box
Of a life is closing off
Much needed light.
It is you who must work
To align the chimera of who you are
To the reality that is—
The reality where you
Are being led by incongruences
In sheep’s clothing.