A Public Disclosure:
Free membership to my Political Pool Party -
let the blood in the water fill every cavity of my body.
I’d rather drown in local pundits circling,
(“pay ME more- how I sniff is best,”)
flooded with sycophants surrounding, scrutinized,
than continue to be alone with a pitiful man trying to hide;
me clinging to your secret definition of courage,
starving my artist until I repeatedly
die.
Lines of Grace
I deplore political violence.
You should not be in a graveyard,
since you do not belong in hallowed ground.
The taking of lives for any reason is truly sinful.
You are a man of conscious and faith;
you must be lying in agony knowing what you’ve done to kids.
You weren’t supposed to die so young.
You have a gift for spreading messages to those in power through the masses-
now you can’t confess you exchanged my community’s misery for your millions.
Never will I rejoice in your death.
You were beloved by many who found their truth in you;
a casket anywhere near yours would be hell.
A Memo to the Honorable Congressman Seth Moulton, Democrat from Massachusetts
How do you know the reason Democrats lost so badly in 2024
was because they didn’t want to offend anyone?
That’s what you told the New York Times.
How do you know transgender communities felt offended?
That’s what you implied to the New York Times.
Desperate pleas from trans youth were ignored,
so crisis hotlines spiked over 700% in the days after the election.
Kids screaming their desires
for nothingness,
the beyond empty,
the nonexistence,
because of cut vocal cords of affirmation.
How do you know some of those children aren’t already dead
from your amplification of those who want them to be so?
How do you know PFLAG parents aren’t
bargaining late at night
for more time to give hugs?
Your transcripts may leave them
with no one to hold;
their children’s peril
derived from the votes
you took from them
to build your soapbox.
How do you know Democrats cleaning up in elections
will also wash that blood off your hands?
How did you know
to be afraid of your two little girls
being run over in sports
by “males and former males?”
Then in that same breath,
as if it was a game,
you supposed as a Democrat
you were expected to fear saying such things.
Are little trans girls playing in a schoolyard
meant to protect their bodies from your strides, instead?
Shoving chests into painted floors and fields,
stealing air from lungs,
feeding it into a machine
so your friends can keep their jobs.
Our gender expansive icons preach on the power
of our vulnerability,
of our divinity,
of our beings,
of our existence,
instead of our vengeance.
Your words makes it hard to hear those sermons clearly.
But you already knew “thoughts and prayers” weren’t working
when you walked away from a moment of silence.
You deemed it insufficient to stop the violence
after a horrific gay nightclub shooting.
In a different attack in another sacred space,
a transgender woman came out of hiding
to help military veterans
stomp on someone’s face,
ending the carnage.
How do you know the woman who has to live
with trauma as a result of her bravery
doesn’t now want to die
from the words of a coward?
Might I recommend next time,
you speak only to the silence
you walked away from.
Your ambitions strike our communities in rapid succession.
Aspirations zipping through
the empty halls of a Congressional building
containing your career.
You’re assigned
to arm soldiers with assault rifles
and declare war.
We’re not allowed in the nearest restroom.
How did you know when you doubled down
and said you weren’t anti-trans,
that you weren’t anti-trans?
Yes, that chamber you put your conscience in
had been pressurized, sir.
Shallow whispers painstakingly replacing deep breaths of humility
until you did as you were told.
All to persuade
one person more than someone else
to applaud your authority
every four years on a Tuesday.
By your account,
politicians become winners by
trapping us in our bodies
and dissociating our souls.
How do you know
victory was never snatched
from the jaws of my metaphors?
How do you know those
tucked away in cabinets
didn’t have blame on the tips of tongues
should their ego’s guidance been proven foolish?
How do you know the man you are now
isn’t because of those
you repeated enough to believe
what you forced people
you don’t even know you hate
to swallow?
I could provide you with
the cruel mercy of answers
to the questioning of who you know yourself to be.
But how do I know that spark of compassion
will not simply be snuffed out
with a long-winded sentence
once more to the New York Times?
Before you squander those donations,
you ought to know a man like you.
A director who fed you your lines-
a consultant who defined who you were compared to someone else-
a-will-somebody-please-give-this-kid-a-raise-
because-you-couldn’t-have-done-it-without-him
(hot damn, you don’t know the half of it),
He’s so good
he had already planted seeds for your 20-24 vision
inside the trans person he raped in 2012.
Ask me how I know.
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