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.
