Baby they & Where are you from & Coming out twice
Baby they
The first time you shaved your head
Felt the peach fuzz of a baby’s soft scalp
All night, you could not stop touching it
As you smiled yourself to sleep
Then you learned why you always hated perfume
Because the only options were flowers and fruit
Femininity was a garden and
You belonged to the forest
The first time you smelled cologne
On your own collarbone, you realised
You didn’t want to fuck men;
You wanted to be them
In fact, a whole world of options
Now opened up to you
A corridor of long-lost secrets
You meet yourself in the hall of mirrors
A walk-in closet inviting you in
(Different from the claustrophobic one
you had to come out of)
Shop the men’s section at the thrift store
(Now you understood why
you always liked vintage clothes)
Replace makeup with gel, clay and mousse
(You never understood the female joy
of finding the perfect lippie; you always
felt like a sad clown in drag)
Leave your house in baggy clothes
Not to hide your belly fats
Like the girls taught you
For Christmas feasts and premenstrual bloat
Good riddance to hot babe curves forever
And everyone who told you
Comfort was never your right
That beauty comes at a price
Today you show off your bare earlobes
Float in the weightlessness of
Unextended eyelashes
Unmanicured nails
Undrawn eyes, unmade face
Unplucked brows, unwaxed pussy
Show off those unshaved legs
You undo
Your lifelong masquerade of a woman
And rest, finally at ease
In the freedom
Of never having to look beautiful again
Where are you from
You ask me, even before
You know my name
What answer does it take
To be the right kind of Asian,
A good immigrant?
Does it matter what country I say
When you come prepared to tell me
You have been to Japan anyway
Even though my country
Is seven hours away?
Does it matter where I am from
When all you want is to prove
You know the words for hello and thank you
Would you like a round of applause
For using my language to show off
Your sophistication
(Do you mean appropriation)
And is that why it doesn’t matter
What kind of Asian I say I am
Because to you
We are one and the same?
When I tell you the answer
Sometimes you fall silent
Disappointed, or afraid
To let slip your ignorance
Sometimes you get real close
And pick my country’s neighbours
Or name another island city state
With skyscrapers and chopsticks
What outcome shall I best hope for?
Even if you know where I am from
You romanticise and exclaim—How clean!
How modern!
You wait, eyes like a puppy
For the bone of my approval
And grateful delight
That someone like you, actually knows
Where someone like me was born
But I don’t quite understand
For I have been to your country too
And I don’t tell you what I know
Or what I really think
So ask me again, where are you from?
Or tell the truth and say what you really mean:
Where on the hierarchy shall I place you?
Coming out twice
To the straight community
I got a tattoo and my mother asked me
What does your husband think?
Then I shaved my head and my father asked me
And your husband is okay with that?
I came out to my straight friends and they said
I thought you are married?
I told them I was bi and they asked
How do you know? and
Are you sure it’s not just a phase?
I found myself justifying, explaining
Excavating—long-buried, private memories
Of feelings I had long ago, but did not know the word for
Then they asked, Omg! Are you in love with me too?
And then, Won’t your husband worry
That one day you will cheat on him?
So I laid out all our wounds on the table, anxious to prove
He still loves me, it wasn’t easy, we are seeing a therapist
But nothing has changed (even though everything has)
Their eyes widen, as though in disbelief
Girl, you are so lucky to have a husband like him
Lucky you, I don’t think my husband ever could
Meaning: Poor guy, I feel sorry for him. Why doesn’t he leave?
When I get back home my husband asks, Honey how did it go?
I smile and say that my best friends have accepted me
I don’t tell him I feel like shit, like I have betrayed him, and us
In ways worse than kissing a girl at the club
To the queer community
I arrive in London full of suitcases and hope
Finally! A place where I can just be me
Where I will find my community, chosen family
And they will see me for who I am
I have waited all my life, to come home
I pull out a chair and introduce myself
Unlike back home, the people here do not assume
I am straight by default
But I still feel like an impostor, when I hear them
Talk about their same-gender partners
And the sweet sapphic things they do together
So when the time comes for me to speak, I say
I have a partner too. I don’t tell them I am married
And do everything I can to avoid saying his name,
His pronoun. Everyone here identifies as a lesbian
And I am terrified to take up space, I feel
Maybe I do not deserve it (I do not deserve to be here)
I have never kissed a girl and I don’t wear flannel
Suddenly someone asks me about my Big Three
And I have no idea what they are talking about
I feel my body shrinking as I smile and try
To disappear into the corner of the room
My ears perk up when I heard someone say He
It is a femme person talking about her partner
Hope rises in my heart; maybe I am not the only one
I listen attentively, hang on to every word
Later, I realise her partner is a trans man
And I am so jealous of her (I have no right to be,
What do I even know? I am someone’s wife
While so many queer couples around the world
Can only dream of this basic human right)
When I get back home my husband asks, Honey how did it go?
I answer honestly this time, tired and defeated
He tells me, I am sorry to hold you back from your happiness
I say no, you are my happiness
As I fall back home into his warm, safe arms
————————————————————
Author’s note: Coming Out Twice seeks to capture the nuances of growing up in a deeply heteronormative society, and the particular moment of recognising my queerness later in life after years of cishet conditioning. Within the Global South, there is often the (colonial) illusion that the “West” is inherently more liberal or progressive. Yet this poem only begins to gesture toward the deeper complexities of how migration shifts my racial identity, and how that identity intersects with my queerness in predominantly White, Eurocentric queer spaces.
Biphobia, transphobia, and racism remain very real within our communities. When queerness is reduced to aesthetics or limited to the gender of our partners, we lose sight of its political and intersectional roots. True queerness must recognise the web of privileges and oppressions we each carry, and use our lived experiences as bridges toward empathy and solidarity. At its heart, queerness should be about collective liberation — refusing to reproduce harm and instead committing to the freedom of all oppressed peoples.
Eve Lee (they/them) is a queer Asian migrant & nomadic poet who has made homes in London and Singapore. They write about home, healing and humanity through a decolonial and existential lens. Longlisted in the 2025 Thawra Poetry Competition, Eve’s work is featured or forthcoming in The Seventh Wave, the other side of hope, Breadfruit, Writing Our Legacy and Synergi Project. They are a resident with Seventh Wave’s Fall 2025 digital residency, Narrative Shifts.
Instagram: @suitcaseofpoetry