Poesia sunyaxah / Dreamshining poem
the underwear has never changed
By kevin martens wong zhi qiang
originally published thursday, 17 april 2025
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. Please also first read about the Kristang Creole/Indigenous practice of sunyaxah or dreamshining that this poem is an example of in the Sunyaxadorang or Dreamshining section on the Igleza page here before viewing the text and image below.
Korpupintura ja fazeh na Kintafera, 17 Paskras 2025
Body picture taken Thursday, 17 April 2025
I must certainly be
a line drawn too rigidly
in the sand;
a heart shaped in
just the wrong way
for you to accept
that it really is my own desert
and not actually some
gentle, fake, well-intentioned but actually
easily replaced
non-Kristang unprocessable tan
that has really gotten my own
big gay lusotropical guns blazing.
You did your absolute best
to ensure that your efforts
of erasing
me from the world
would absolutely
come to pass,
and so it went.
So it did.
So I was murdered,
and dehumanised,
and killed once again
and so it was that I had
an absolute fucking blast
of a time
yet again coming back from the dead
and finding out where you hid
all these deceptions and lies
and how you had them believe
I was actually fucked up
and broken.
Come put your own
Red Earth on
at longest last;
come tell me about
the betrayals of me you have spoken
into life.
Come show me
that the history really is
once again
endlessly repeating
and once more
not yet past.
And most of all
come and explain to me
why I was chosen
yet again
to die.