By | 1 February 2021

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.

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