The day we had to paint our own wings
someone asked me
if I purposely lingered within the field of butterfly imagery,
explaining that they can’t see their own beauty.
My creature of clouds and soap bubbles transformed
into a silly little bug
fully grown with hair.
A Chinese pronoun that does not yet exist.
I am ta.
The thought of that terrifies
me like the pin that traps
the dried out dead version of my gender.
Scared of the marginalised,
but about to realise my queer way of flying.
A beacon of hope, frolicking,
does this represent me?
Left with wonders,
shaved off my hair,
I birkenstocked my outfit and put on a shirt
screaming I am clueless
about what I’m looking for.
Treading slowly a thinking valley of flowers
I do not know.
Fingers touching face, I find pollen
in the slant off my eyes.
The wings held me tight,
air scarce, I
Kika Man 文詠玲 (she/they) is a writer from Belgium and Hong Kong. Kika writes about her mixed heritage, mental health, and travelling, about music and blueness. She is a member of Slam-T (a spoken word & slam poetry platform) and also a PhD Student in Queer Sinophone Studies. Their debut collection is forthcoming in 2021. On the cover you can find a scan of their neurodiverse brain. You can find Kika on Twitter and Instagram @kikawinling.