why you big brown bearded boy wear a dress

they press me, and dispossess me

soliciting clarifying address on this repressed mess of largesse

it’s in their blood to suppress you see

make me undress and acquiesce you see

my blessed intersectional existence seems not my own you see

like many of your own, my kin, our ancestry a sin

interrogated, assaulted, destroyed, and then censored in history

those who are like me cannot thrive, deprived, and buried alive in discourteous antiquity

emboldened men, full of gobbledygook, spreading lies, stealing land, starting wars

i just know you crook Captain-Cook looking fuckers will Endeavour to make me all yours

gotta profess that many public queries are quite cruel, some benign, some curious

the fact to depress is that most are quite furious

why you big brown bearded boy wear a dress

you’re not allowed to express

gotta confess, these reservations bring me real stress and distress

despite my visage, scraps of privilege, me too have been pillaged, body trauma, sacrilege

they think we’ve made progress in excess, claiming minor success

that is but a half-truth, scribbled down in many a book

unless we come out and assess

as one tribe, admit they mistook and forsook, and they took and retook

nevertheless, i digress, i speak of one grisly peak, not unique for this freak

informing this bleak poem, and all that i seek

one particular repugnant street specimen tried his best to transgress and oppress

some studderin scum of a white brutha from anotha motha

just like all the otha that strived to smotha my greater than thou

my great greatest grandmotha

as much as you tried, she lives on in me

and you are left empty by yours, a husk of dead air

now hollerin trashy white noise, fat fist raised high to scare

cheered on by his bad boys, beat, butcher, burn this trash queer

why you big brown bearded boy wear a dress

in that split-second i split, racing thoughts coalesce

see to me, i decree, this body flying carefree

in the midst of all the hate that you give

or the death you might bring

i will be spillin on your lap my black tea

the politest reply to your enquiry

my friend not a friend, but i portend that you’ll mend one day

the message i’ll send before my end, is that i’ll do it my way

you see

my gender is fluid; it is akin to water

it slips through my fingers and takes many forms

it is a destructive force of nature, is a wonder to behold.