when I open the door to leave
my apartment, it’s a political act.
when I open my eyes after
abandoning sleep, political warfare.
when I pull the covers back up
over my shoulders, cradle the cat
into the crook of my arm, they will
say look how she glorifies obesity.
when I yawn and pull myself out
of the mouth of my bed, they will say
she’s glorifying queerness. when I
place my bare and ashy foot
onto the unswept hardwood and stand
without falling, they will say this woman
doesn’t know her place. when I limp
with this swollen bladder through the
wide door of my bathroom, they will say
this bitch never stops talking. when I
flush the toilet, avoid stepping on
the cat’s tail, while looking into the vanity
mirror, they will say she’s not a scholar.
when the pellets of the cat food hit
the stainless steel of her bowl like rain
drops music on a tin roof, no one
offers me an umbrella, or shelter.
it’s not just that the world wants me
dead, they want to watch me die—
stand astride my fat body
with a shovel, ready to harvest
the resistance that blooms here
About the Poem:
It hurts to be a thinking person. Inside the nesting doll of otherness through which I am meant to understand my identity and life experiences, there is an untainted scripture. The circumstances of my birth and of this Earth conspire, at times, to make me mistranslate it. But I tell you, the years are winning. With every second of new life, I come to know myself more fully; I step into my power.
About the Poet:
Omotara James is a New York City–based writer. She is the author of Song of My Softening (Alice James Books, 2024), which received the 2025 Lambda Literary Award for Lesbian Poetry and was a finalist for the NAACP Image Award. Her work has appeared in Poetry Magazine, The Nation, The Paris Review, and has been featured on NPR’s Morning Edition and The Washington Post Book Club.
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