Layover in Denver

It is in these times in these airports in this America where my otherness feels more pronounced. As if I am an exhibit in a museum. Or an animal in a zoo. Or a threat to be suspicious of.

America likes to remind me that I don’t belong. This is why my homies formed a gang. Why my community organizes. Why we gravitate towards the ocean. The water always seems to embrace us the tightest.

In this time in this airport waiting for this three hour delayed flight. Even this America, with its walls and its guns, cannot control the wind.

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