The Shy Thing

I've always seen him
the shy thing
standing behind doors
hiding around corners
nobody sees him
but I do
he's very shy
the shy thing
with his little smile
his little teeth
his long claws

he doesn't eat much
usually the rotting things
at the bottom of the bin
he likes them
they're easier to eat
and they taste like something
he likes the grease on the polystyrene containers
I bring home
he likes spicy food

nobody believes me
when I tell them about him
they can't see him
they think he's imaginary
but I see him
he's always been here
for as long as he can remember
in this house
and he knows all the best places to hide
under the small table in the hallway
nobody looks there
up the three doors in the ceiling
nobody notices them
behind the television unit
in the empty cupboard nobody uses
often you'll hear a light go on or off
but you don't know which light it was
it's the light in the ceiling
in the dead of night
you can sometimes hear is feet shuffle
he doesn't walk so well
he's been hurt
long ago
so he shuffles
wearing odd socks
the ones that go missing in the wash
I gave him an old shirt of mine once
and we became instant friends

I made noodles for him once
he didn't like them
he left them till they went all green
then he slurped them up

he's a very good friend
one day the bad people came
they said they fix the electricity
one man went up into the ceiling
he never did say what he saw
but he came down his rickety ladder
white like a crushed fast food plate
he wouldn't say
his boss said he was being silly
the shy thing sat on the boss' head
I don't know what everyone else saw

but the boss died some days after that in hospital
they said his brains went all green
the shy thing said he went to visit the boss
in hospital
he said it was the only time he'd ever leave
when he went out to eat
he said that with a smile I didn't like

but
the shy thing is such a good friend
but now I don't like going up into the ceiling any more
not since the boss came to stay in my house
I didn't like it
but the shy thing insisted
the boss screams a lot
when the shy thing locked the boss up in the ceiling
then I couldn't hear the boss so well any more
which I liked
he's very afraid
and that makes me afraid
the screams upset me
but the shy thing keeps him quiet with his nails
most of the time anyway
but nobody else can hear the screams
I guess
some people are good
at only seeing and hearing
what they want to

-o0o-

When the anger dies

the anger goes, as it does
and I'm left with one question
Who's side are you on?
and I guess after that
I'll see if my anger was warranted
in the mean time
I'll wait
with my question
pulp in my mouth
and my anger sitting in the corner
and my hurt back in the closet

-o0o-

Flashback

herald of fear comes back, screaming
insistent that I remember things I'd rather forget
forcing me to the ground
hands on my shoulders
feeding me images of pain and suffering
poured onto my psyche
old forgotten guilt
dripping onto my soul
like tomato sauce shaken out of a bottle
let loose by further shaking
and the pain floods over me again
again
again
unstopping nightmare with open eyes
finding me in the dead of night
to remind me
that even after years of being free
I have to relive this pain

if I could, I'd stab the herald
and bury him where I keep the memories of the man
the man who molested me
so long ago
and I'd convinced myself over again
that I should be better by now

-o0o-

Fat

fat
     fucking fat
     thick round
     queer
     fat
each piece of me
     this fat
     pound for pound
me fat
     something for you
          ...you ...thin
but my fat body

     for you to hang your insecurities off

          like I'm a coatrack 

               for the point you're trying to make

for you to be counterpoint to
     so you've got something to feel better than
for you to find your 'inspiration'
     to be used for your goals
          to shame me for your ego
          to hide me behind your neckline and thigh-gap

fuck you

     this is my fat
          and you can't have any

-o0o-

This Land is Your Land

this land is your land?
it's weird you say that
you came with loud guns
you came with bright flags

you colonized them
and then you claimed that
this land was always made for you

you built your houses
on native gravestones
and on their temples
you build payphones

pretend their gone now
that you are destined
that this land was always made for you

went from Apartheid
to segregation
you painted this
your rainbow nation

and now you stand there
with all you stole, saying
this land was always made for you

your hateful heroes
put up in marble
your white guilt
a whispered garble

and now you pretend
it's not related
this land was always made for you

your racist systems
you now defend them
with guns and flags
you swore were not yours

and now you yell
from every plaza
this land was always made for you

and you've got houses
blood money pay checks
built on the sweat of
black broken bare backs

and you're just descended
you never did that
this land was always made for you

-o0o-

An Appreciation of Kitsch

what isn't straightforward

                               is kitsch

bent and twisted               

         distasteful

                 queer faggot dyke

                         female / femme

            not white

                          transgender non binary

decolonized

beautiful               

this is what I want          

metallic trim on martini glasses     

plush toys hanging from my rear view mirror

garish clothes                                   

insulting to the sensible       

food for the senses   

          kitsch is my blood spilt

                   kitsch are my dead friends

                                      kitsch is my dead flowers in the window

that I keep anyway

            kitsch is bad eyeliner

kitsch is how I dance

               all elbows and stomping

  kitsch is dinner at my house                                    

                                             late, rich, and far too much   

kitsch is my body                                     

                      far too fat                                       

            far too scarred                                        

far too ugly                                                        

                               kitsch is my love

                    reckless and fast

kitsch is history from the perspective of the victim                  

kitsch is music sung from a grieving mouth             

                     kitsch is staying up way too late to watch YouTube videos

kitsch is late for my appointments  

  kitsch is curved and hurting

  like my spine

                                               kitsch can't stand up when it's cold

                                                               kitsch cries with me when I'm in pain

                                             kitsch bleeds with me when my veins won't clot

      kitsch cries with me when I'm depressed

and the world is like a leaden sinker             

dragging me down                                                 

                       kitsch is glitter on my pillow

          that's what I want

                                           allowing a suffering world to be beautiful

                                         in the face of such incredible hatred and violence

kitsch is the messiah                                              

who fucks so gently                                      

and kisses to tenderly                         

and tells us that everything   

is going to be          

alright          

-o0o-

I wish you were there

I wish you were there

for reasons the religious struggle to understand

for reasons atheists find inscrutable

I miss you

unlike I miss any god

losing god was like a chain snapped off of my neck

losing you was like you died a second time

this time for good

because I know this time you're gone

and I really need you right now

because I'm lost

while I know you're the only one who knows the way

though, now you've gone somewhere I can't follow

the solace of seeing you again is gone

the person I'm speaking to now

is merely my lonely heart

substituting an old memory

a kind nostalgia that keeps you alive

I miss you so much

far too many of you died
and there are so few people to talk to left this side

-o0o-

Just Because I'm Quiet

you think it doesn't hurt

just because I'm quiet

you think it doesn't set my heart on fire

just because I quietly take it

you think it's okay

you think you're safe from criticism

when you misgender me

when you disregard who I am

and you think I'm okay with it

just because I've stopped speaking

you think you're in good company

and you are

you think you can do it

because everyone does it

you think your opinion on this matters more

because you can shut me up quickly

by steamrolling over me

and you think it's okay

because I'm too tired to say anything

you think it's okay

because if I didn't deserve this

then I would keep speaking up

but be careful

when I stop talking all together

that's when you should worry

because when I stop talking

then I start moving

and it's usually

as far

away

from

you

as

I

can 

get

-o0o-

I'm not your fucking sychopant

I'm not your fucking sychopant

I don't owe you my smile

a clock tuned to your dial

when you fuck up

I don't owe you a polite wink

and affirm everything you think

I don't owe you my silence

this isn't anything new

when you fuck up

don't expect me to praise you

when you hurt people

don't expect me to assuage your guilt

as if I'm a cog to the ego you built

when you're an arsehole

I don't owe you my approval

But fuck with me

and you'll earn your instant removal

you've known this all along

but you act as if I've surprised you

as if everything I've said 

is something wholly new

#BeBetter

-o0o-

#BeBetter is the summer time motto of a friend of mine, Dr. T.J. Tallie. I take great joy in pilfering his hashtag.

Cannibalized (An Old Poem Rewritten)

I rewrote this to more clearly reflect who I am. I wrote this originally trying to be cisgender, but I felt like this poem didn’t quite reflect who I am as well as I would like. So I fixed a few things.

Cannibalized (An Old Poem Rewritten)

there is little left of me
the rest was butchered by you
hidden behind the lines you drew
by the blue mountain's beach
where you broke off my hands
so justice couldn’t reach

and I can’t wipe my eyes
so your knife cannibalized my bones
and left nothing but lies
with my guts scattered among the stones
and my tears lubricated the pieces
made them slide down easy

and my mouth is stammering
with words marching - one / two
like you and your little soldier boys
how proud you must be, such toys
with your little guns and knives
and you fuck other men's wives

and I am left behind
just a chopped up faggot child
not worthy of love or care
pan- omni- bi- sexual, broken, wild and parted
the prime meat cut for your pleasure
the rest discarded

and you tied me down
like a dog and yelled at me
trying to fell my tree
by screaming at it
and you beat me and I bit
and you were so indignant

after all, why should the faggot bite you
you only did your worst for them
they should be grateful
and I did all I could to fight you
I'd be so terribly spiteful
the militant gay child

you taught the recipes well
and I learned
maybe not the lessons your taught
but I spurned your hunger
and I burned your books
and I ran away

and you saw my love for a black friend
and you threw your toys out of the cot
and you poured another soda and gin
so that all your little abuses may be forgot
but I remember still
and I bet you do too

and you do, you still do
everywhere I go I see it
the lines drawn by your knife
telling your story bit by bit
and you cry, "It's not true, not true."
your own protest defaming you

your uniform has faded a lot
and your lot is up
along with your time
spilled from your gin cup
along with my blood and pieces
mixed with your spit and grime

and I'm ready to be slaughtered
with rope and lace
clamped into one place
with my pace stuck
like I'm held down by glue
the remnants parts of you

when I stole my pieces back
they came back covered with dirt
the filth from you
splattered over my shirt and boots
years worth of accrue
eating into my roots

but I burned myself clean
baptized by fire
free of the dogmatic dream
the illusory liar
and my pieces found rest
and peace found the missing bits of me

and the smallest bits of me
did find their way home
and finally started to grow
some semblance of life
to be left alone
the last few inches of me

and your racist tongue is gone
and your teeth are out of my soul
the years have been long
since I last saw you
and you called
and I hung up on you

it felt so good
everyone thought I was in shock
you must have hurt me
but I was elated
such an arrogant cock I was
and I was happy

and I found my pieces
hiding here and there
behind another CD
behind another glass of water
one piece longing to be a son
the other longing to be a daughter

and one just wanting to be me
lost in a bitter world
fatherless from one father I flee
into an uncertain world
without your thoughts
without your plan

and I put myself together
fillet, Sirloin and Chops
gizzards, heart, the lot
all dancing to be amalgamated
thrown into the cooking pot
hoping that I be reanimated

-o0o-

Paint the road queer

paint the road queer
at fifth gear
a calabash of dicks

and flavoured beer

well... beer for you

and espresso for me

and that schnitzel cut thick

smothered in sauce ... this turned unexpectedly sexy

whooting with laughter

singing in the winter

hot with jokes and fields

baked in Natal swelter

kith on the road

a good time of year

crashing a wedding (literally, sorry Erin)

to paint the road queer

well...

something along those lines

-o0o-