There used to be this dream we had

of becoming women in a way our

men wouldn’t wanna be. I asked

the boys for a hand but they’re too busy

reminding me that their purpose is fucking

when it’s so obvious they don’t know that

the purpose of fucking is to draw closer, not

erase the body before you. 
There was once this dream we had

of diverting the gaze from coloured flesh

to the ways I wore a dress: the way the white

gays do. Forget about the white robes we once

wore, kneeling for a lord to erase the body and

soul of the woman we wanna be. Make sure

that you’re fucking only in a dress because

that’s your sole purpose in this community.
Their confidence is a dream, because

queer joy is a brilliant, slippery surge of something

you can’t possibly pin down, but when your

Blackness is pinned down by a white heavy

weight on first sight, as a mere boy you must

make the choice. I’ll give you a dress so it’s

easier to address me as a man without

coloured flesh. Just let me breathe.
Their wildest dreams consist of protest screams

and if that means reposting screams of protest

as dogs draw black blood in another country then

so be it. The full confidence in selectively fucking

coloured flesh like it is your purpose to save us.

Perhaps I should fetch my prayer dress for you

so you may finally see my queerness and

Blackness while I kneel in worship.
They’re fucking in their dreams like the men they

wanna be, and I wonder whether they see a black dog

in me, pants heavy with that surging sex they wanna

see. Yet what is my purpose when my dress dangles

low and their man is erased? If I could draw a line from

your misery to mine, would it ring loud despite our

differences or remain unanswered because the

question you scream down the line in protest is

are you a man or a woman?
They’re gonna dream up a slur for black&queer so that

straight men can erase my body and divert their gaze

from their misery, and white queers can pin down my purpose

in this community they draw purpose from. Perhaps then

I’ll have the language to express what we feel when we

want to be like women but not the ones the white world

says we should be. Until that perfect word is dangled before

the desperate dog in me, we will continue dreaming of

the person we wanna be.