I’m illegal

…

i am illegal.

when i walk down the street,
they stare at me.
when i wear something different,
they comment and tell me to change.

i am illegal.

when i have something to say,
they shut me up.
when i eat too much or too little,
they as questions.

“are you trying to loose weight?”
“you’re getting fat. go diet.”
“why do you have a belly? gross.”
“no wonder you’re so fat. look at your plate!”

i am illegal.

when i want to wear a dress,
they touch me, then pretend i invited them.
when i want to wear baggy clothes,
they pout and ask why im such a nun.

i am illegal.

when i want to speak up,
they tell me i know nothing.
when i overrule them,
they call me a bitch.

i am a prisoner.

no i'm not a prisoner.
because even prisoners are treated better than me.
better than us.

yes, we can vote now.
yes, we can work now.

but are treated the same?
are we loved the same?
are we allowed the same rights?
are we allowed the same life?

i am illegal.
and until we balance the inequality scales,
i’ll be waiting for them to find and deport me,
to shut me up for eternity.