when it’s convenient
a poem/short story about inclusion claims when actions say otherwise; when they see you as ‘quirky’ in a cool way if it fits their narrative but annoying when it doesn’t
particularly about inclusion or lack thereof in creative spaces where creativity and “being different” is supposedly celebrated and sought, but experience has taught me that it is, in fact, not at all.
—
you want different,
the new, the fresh ideas, the bold, the weirdos,
the independent thinkers.
those who speak effortlessly and at the right time even if not spoken to.
“but not like that,” we’re told.
“that’s not right.”
you can’t have wrong.
you don’t like wrong.
[what is creativity? curiosity?]
i stand with courage, they may whisper and laugh.
but when i’m silent my ocean of blood inside me freezes.
i forget. i forget the difference i’ve got.
my reason.
so each day i wake up, i share.
i do things often that are kinda weird, hard, new, unconventional, and scary.
i listen and say things only when i’ve got words to say.
i do all this just to stay alive.
the blood and water flow through me and
once again i remember my reason.
different is okay.
different is needed.
still we live with the reminder that we’re not quite right.
we’re tormented with this in every step.
too weird, too bold, too strong,
too loud, too much.
the audacity we’re told we have.
too many opinions, too far outside the box.
you say “stay small, stay quiet, niche down.”
you say “dont rock the boat, float along, coast, and don’t dare speak.”
you say “never dream, don’t lead, only follow
and do as everyone else does.”
too many ideas, reckless, dramatic, impulsive, erratic strategy.
we, the dreamers, got carried away again.
we coloured outside the lines, went off the path,
ran away with it, never looking back.
we’re alive but unlikeable to most…
or so it seems.
different… but not in the way you like.
yet there you stand, still begging for something different:
the wild, creative, free…
real…
the ones who think outside the box.
we don’t just think outside the box,
we live outside of it…
because we’ll never fit inside.
we stand so far outside of the box
that we have no idea what it looks like
or where it is.
it might be on another planet,
we’ll never know.
still we stand before you.
then your fear takes control.
the great unknown.
you forgot what you asked for.
you talk so much, listen less.
you see blindly,
hold onto what you think you know,
what you’ve been fed to believe,
never explore new and untried,
never risk your comfort.
so i ask:
do you want different?
or do you just like the idea of it?
—mal
