Hyperbole

I am tired of support just being words.

I think you also want us out of existence.

Just go down like perfect victims so you

can pretend to mourn us.

That you wanted us.

But you don't want us 

alive.

You just want our obedience 

and our gratitude.

Our silence.

As ourselves?

We're too loud.

Too opinionated.

Have too many feelings.

“Will you STOP harassing people who 

say they care about you” (but not really)?

I had to ask you to stop misgendering 

one of my deeply mourned colleagues.

They got guided home by the stars,

and you were guided by your mouth.

I had to ask you to stop financing our murders

but because I'm not fiction, I don't matter. 

Because I'm not fiction I'm just a bully,

a violent oppressor,

harassing my way into your privilege. 

Either way,

in life or death,

you think you get to decide who we are.

So no, 

you aren't different.

We're either perfect silent victims 

or violent oppressors,

to you

but never just people.

So yeah,

you too want us silenced.

You too want us ripped to pieces.

A quick slipping into our demise.

You only want trans people to exist in ways

that you approve or not at all.

A simple unqueering,

back to our place.

Made to fit in

or die.

You'll think this poem is a hyperbole.

The last stand

Don’t you think it is weird the way you

gloss over things that has me standing still?

It hit me like a ton of bricks.

Don’t you think this is catastrophic?

Don’t you think it is dramatic the way you

tower over me just to get your point across?

It should have turned you soft.

It should have made you feel the loss.

Growing up the things you did were supposed to be seared into my memory,

but the truth of it all is that you are easy to forget.

I raised myself up into adulthood without any help of you,

and for a while I believed that it should make me sad.

But the truth is that I am never going to need you

and in the end that is just fine by me.

So just know that you are free.

I appreciate the distance you keep.

You probably think that it is weird the way I am healed

by never having to force myself to love you again.

Oceans between us I won’t cross and,

this lack of empathy is my last stand.

Masked

Laws aren't meant for justice,

but for class control.

It's only violence

When we do it.

It's only murder when those in power die.

It's not dying when it's us.

We don't matter.

We are disposable.

Your life only had meaning if you 

had multiple zeroes to your name.

Your obedience doesn't stop the violence.

Even if you think you're not falling in line.

It's always weird to me

that you treat disabled people 

as disposable, when you are too.

Just because you prefer unseeing over safety,

doesn't mean that you are not dying.

Either way your breath isn't free.

Either way your breath costs you.

No matter how much you believe 

you're healthy and better than me.

Drawn in red

You supposed to draw a red line,

Or a line in the sand,

In front of, not behind, you,

So people know they can't pass.

You supposed to take an action 

In protection and not in hindsight.

Not when the bodies of the dead 

Create a ladder reaching the sky.

Strength doesn't mean anything

If the only thing you offer is a shrug

And a ton of complacency.

Like a handshake followed by “good luck”.

And Never again must mean

“I will” not “I should've”.

Because an apology won't bring back

All the people that have starved.

You are pathetic.

Blue

I'm lying here

With tears rolling over my face,

Creating a path 

That will

NEVER

Lead to them

Again. 

A silent mourning,

Cause who is here to hear me,

For snuffed out candles 

And young lives,

Now young deaths.

What is making me more upset?

That they were ignored in life

Or that they are finally seen in death?

No.

Not that.

It's knowing that they could've,

Should've,

Still been there

If we cared at all.

A tiny bit more would have been enough.

You still think it's too much.

Fuck this world.

Fuck all of the well wishes. 

I break only for the breaking hearts.

The ones like me who get it.

Fuck all of them that do not. 

Behind my closed curtain,

I'm alone in just one colour.

My heart is blue

And so are my tears,

My mind, 

And my feelings. 

As is the candle

I light in my head.

They could have been here,

But all we have is knowing they were.

They should have,

But all we have is thoughts.

Keep the prayers part to yourself. 

It means nothing 

If prayers 

Are in place of action.

Are in place of

Change.

Are in place of

You

Seeing the living

Before they are 

Dead.

Black dog

Can you walk my black dog?

I promise it won't bite.

I'm stuck at the ceiling. 

And it needs the night.

I'm stuck in feelings,

That has me paralysed.

I'm always overthinking,

God I hate my mind.

And I hate myself.

I am underwhelming. 

Always a little wrong,

Never in good standing.

Never in good reason

Am I feeling my feelings.

I'm bleeding out my heart

Cause my black dog needs feeding.

Pathetic

5 second rule.

If I drop myself on the floor,

Can I still devour myself to the bone?

The core of the matter is, of course, 

That I am unable to pick myself up.

Not from the floor,

Not from the pieces of myself, 

I keep losing and scattering all of the time.

I would rather say, truthfully, I'm underwhelmed 

With all the things I set out to accomplish.

Except you

And except them, and all the moments 

That weren't truly ever of my own making.

All I now am was the library books I never lend,

And the fines that accumulated.

It's rather pathetic.