(TW: Self-harm and suicide, because I'm totally being That Poet today.)
Crest me wide open,
drag your knife from tender, supple throat
Flay me, take my hide off
like a sheep’s wool,
Submerge my head in water,
hair tangling into dark knots,
and make me choke and spew my tales
Tie me to a pole,
my feet at bundles of wood,
and set me afire.
If I were to just be honest?
With great fervor you deny this.
Murder and torture? Morally repugnant!
But you haven’t even noticed people already have
done those acts you abhor.
They do it so much more subtly,
but they kill us,
like we are poison ivy or ragweed
popping up in an otherwise safe lawn.
You’ve probably done it.
Look at us! Look at us!
Why can’t you look at us, like you look at other people,
Why do our bodies hurt you?
Our hair, our skin, our genitalia?
Why can’t you look at who we are?
Why do you hate our bodies?
Why do you hate what we do with our bodies,
what we have to do with them,
what we must do with them,
what we feel we need to do with them?
Why do you hate our lives?
When a woman dons a headdress,
when a man puts on a dress,
when two women hold hands,
when a wheelchair passes,
when someone talks of their gods,
when someone tells you they don’t have gods.
Why can’t you stomach anything not yours?
Worse, worse, you go deeper into the abyss,
and whisper, whisper, whisper--
the tail shake of a viper.
Don’t worry, I don’t worry.
Don’t care, I don’t care.
Smile, grow up, stop whining.
I was joking! Just joking, just joking, just joking.
Why do you take everything so seriously?
Your actions and words?
They lead to us torturing and murdering