x⁴
By kevin martens wong zhi qiang
originally published monday, 19 august 2024
on tigri sa chang
Koitadu | Content warning
Please first read about my writing in the Skribadorang or Writing section on the Igleza page here before reading the piece below so you have advance warning about the rather spicy things that I often like to write about, and why I choose to write about them, especially in terms of subverting unhealthy stereotypes about gay people, Kristang people, Creole people, Indigenous people, masculinity, neurodivergence, the body, healthy forms of attraction and sexuality, and using my writing to process the severe individual, collective and inter-generational trauma and abuse I have faced across my life.
Fundamentally undifferentiated
I am endlessly press-ganged back into service
unrepudiated
for my non-sins
that would have been
hyperregulated
if they could fit any other theorem
between my big Kristang ass
but as it stands
my intercept
falls square
rootedly between
solid liquid and gas:
I'm another state of matter altogether,
darling,
and if I were you
I wouldn't dare even begin to think to pass
go, let alone go curving up
any anti-exponential
slope
curving deep into my dreamy
creole thighs.
Come tither.
Make my gradients
all bend backward, and forward,
and shiver.
Draw me a new line
right over pi;
draw me right where I'm supposed to be,
deep direct down in history—
too superintegrated
to ever be denied
again.
Too supertitillated
to be anything more
than your drawn and quartered
Dragon Reborn kosmeru-hypercube friend.