Poetry

 

I AM NOT YOUR DOLL

I am not your doll, nor am I

your pretty little gisaeng,

plucking three-four gently on the gayageum,

inky braids coiled upon my crown.


I am not your moon, shy and

retiring, clutching my brother’s

sleeve and crying when the cold abyss

of darkness settles like a blindfold and


I am not your comfort woman,

a slick and warm body for you

to force into your bed, a toy for your

pleasure, in-out-in.


I call you tiger, spit my curses;

you think it’s fitting,

or maybe even flattering

to be likened to the prowling beast


but in my land, the tiger is

the foolish, prideful brute

the monster driven by his carnal desires

the cruel cannibal of the hills


in my land, the tiger is

the one who steals from the poor

the one who stomps upon the needy

the one who bows to bare his wrist


and the day will come when I shall

sharpen my needlepoint claws,

spread my midnight blue wings,

and sing in victorious ululation.


I am not your doll, nor am I

your pretty little gisaeng,

plucking three-four gently on the gayageum,

inky braids coiled upon my crown.

 

Author Bio:

Sol Kim is a transmasc Korean writer and local café regular. His work seeks to embolden the whispers of the subconscious and to confront the ghosts of the past, with a view to tell stories that resonate across borders. At his doljanchi, he picked up the pencil, and he hasn't put it down since. He can be found on Twitter at @solkimchi.

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