i can’t be.
and i carry that magical burden of the fact that i can’t be.
i can’t be the spectrum of colors that shows up after the rain, to be a good scene.
i can’t be the sugar in the coffee that makes it taste sweet.
i can’t be a gold key for my folks that feel locked up.
i can’t be a couple of shoulders for those who need to lay their heads on.
i can’t even be who i’d like to be, or where i’d like to be.
i don’t know how to be so that i can be.
i assume, i can’t be.
maybe i shouldn’t be?
maybe i’m not meant to be.
maybe Shakespeare was a lying bastard who spoke bullshit about, to be.
maybe it’s not about “to be or not to be,” maybe it’s about not to be, and how we cannot be.

Berkay Bayram (he/they), 19-year-old writer, was born in Avsa Island, Turkey. Under the harsh political climate in the region, they are inspired by the queer-feminist solidarity. Their former works were published in Ample Remains, Dead Fern Press, & Poetically Magazine.

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