Monday 1 August 2022

You cannot kill me in any way that matters

 


You can kill my body. You can sever

my consciousness from time and flesh

and glandular emotion. You can delete

my works from libraries and memories

and rumour. It won't make any difference.


You can kick us out of sports, and 

education, and entertainment (and good luck with that), and it won't matter, because 

trans children will keep being born,


among the births you'll force my brothers

and my sisters to endure, and you will

not stop that, because if you stay hung up

on high school biology, you will never


be able to program us cis and straight and

American down in the womb; and we

have slipped into subtext since Sappho,

making sure someone, in another time,


will remember us - and those kids are

going to find each other because we did,

one way or another, and when they do

they will laugh, as we do,


at every stupid thing you do 

to keep us from each other.


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