battery

I think my charger is broken

my psyche won't recharge

it's spent

like an age-worn battery

and I'm running on safe-mode

coffee doesn't help

a cold shower doesn't help

I try to sleep

like trying to fill up a tankless car

the petrol just spills onto the road

I'm running on empty

-o0o-

touch

your hand uninvited

touching me

inappropriately

constantly

and I've kept my cool

my anger masked

still you won't stop

even though I've asked

now I'm waiting

for your next intrusion

to bring your entitlement

to a stark conclusion.

-o0o-

pearl one, stitch two

pearl one, stitch two,

today is a long day,

pearl one stitch two,

stir the cup,

longer than usual,

pearl one, stitch two,

stir the cup,

have a bath,

i’m struggling,

pearl one, stitch two,

stir the cup,

have a bath,

make a sandwich,

watching the hours pass,

pearl one, stitch two,

stir the cup,

have a bath,

make a sandwich,

sit in the dark,

I can’t cope today,

pearl one, stitch two,

stir the cup,

have a bath,

make a sandwich,

sit in the dark,

turn up the music,

so I won’t,

pearl one, stitch two,

stir the cup,

have a bath,

make a sandwich,

sit in the dark,

turn up the music,

dance in the dark,

i’ll just sit here,

-o0o-

Erasure

Tune of the unjust;

the long song.

Drawn out to lash the weak,

and praise the strong.

Heavens, no!

What ever could go wrong?

When anger stirs,

in the maddening throng.

Sing for me then,

lashing with your fist.

Grab my hair, my throat,

my thighs, my wrist.

But you can't undo me,

no matter how you insist.

I am here, always,

and always I persist.

-o0o-

Calm Waters

you're playing a dangerous game

if you think I'm something you can tame

just because I've a broad, bright smile

and been so placid all the while

my patience undeniable

you think I'm soft and pliable

you prod and poke at every bruise

cutting short at temper's fuze

be warned small child

and have no doubt

I'll chew you up

and spit you out

-o0o-

Riot

if you are more concerned
with property destroyed
than lives lost to abuse:
then you are the problem

if riots irk you more
than things they represent
more than those children killed:
then you are the problem

if you spend more time on
vindicating whiteness
than challenging black death:
then you are the problem

if you spend more time on
defending your straightness
than challenging queer death:
then you are the problem

your personal comfort
is not worth more than lives
the lives killed by your kind:
since you are the problem

when you bought into that
you, holier than thou
a 'pure- hearted' bigot:
you became the problem

if you think that riots
are so unbecoming
but you don't dare ask why:
you're the fucking problem

you have no right calling
yourself a liberal
you are not progressive:
you're the fucking problem

you don't care about them
the people who suffer
the people who have died:
you're the fucking problem

-o0o-

Is my tea stolen?

is there a term for white taste?

like white gaze

but an appreciation for the taste of dark skin

my tea might be stolen, you see

the product of slavery

a colonial tell

a capitalist sell

and the taste that white people develop

for all things not white

except for brown lives, of course

they don't seem to matter when it comes to white consumption
the deadly, unjust appropriation of everything of colour
except the lives that made them

understand that my tea comes at a price

far grander than the corporate sale

a tale of trade

a rand for pound of tea

-o0o-

Forgotten Heroes (The Leading Ladies of Stonewall)

Stormé DeLarverie, the guardian of lesbians:

"It was a rebellion,

it was an uprising,

it was a civil rights disobedience —

it wasn’t no damn riot."

Marsha P. Johnson, the revolutionary heart for the homeless:

"I was no one,

nobody,

from Nowheresville

until I became a drag queen.

That's what made me in New York,

that's what made me in New Jersey,

that's what made me in the world."

Sylvia Rivera, the queen of charity and activism:

"Today, we have to fight back against the government. 

We have to fight them back. 

They’re cutting back Medicaid, 

cutting back on medicine for people with AIDS. 

They want to take away from women on welfare 

and put them into that little work program. 

They’re going to cut SSI. 

Now they’re taking away food stamps. 

These people who want the cuts – 

these people are making millions and millions and millions of dollars as CEOs. 

Why is the government going to take it away from us? 

What they’re doing is cutting us back. 

Why can’t we have a break?"

Miss Major Griffin-Gracy, the rouser for justice:

"Puppy's murder made me aware 

that we were not safe or untouchable 

and that if someone does touch us, 

no one gives a shit. 

We only have each other...

So I started looking out for myself … 

whenever we got into a car [we] would write down as much information as possible. 

We would try (to)...get a guy to walk outside the car so that everyone could see him, 

so we all knew who he was if she didn’t come back. 

That’s how it started. 

Since no one was going to do it for us, 

we had to do it for ourselves."

Brenda Howard, the mother of pride:

"Bi, Poly, Switch—I’m not greedy, I know what I want."

And the Children of the Revolution:

"We are the Stonewall girls

We wear our hair in curls

We don't wear underwear

We show our pubic hair."

-o0o-

Heroes

What do we do when we have no heroes?
When we live in a broken and hurting world,
who do we turn to?
Who guides us when we are lost,
lost at a time where being without bearing will get you killed?
What do we do when the people we look up to are flawed?
When the only guidance they can offer is partial?
When our heroes are so far removed from us?
What happens if everything about you is erased?
On television? In print? In courts? In sports?
What happens if people don't think you exist?
Because you have no heroes?
Nobody to show the world who you are?
Instead they've propped up some doll,
some manikin,
a bookmark quick-reference for them.
They have something to look at,
and instantly know you.
Some false idol so they can say:
"Hey, I know you!"
while at the same time, no,
no, they don't know you at all.
They've wholeheartedly made up the story,
and convinced themselves it's the truth.
Then they punish us because we haven't bought into that story.
Because our so-called heroes were never telling our story.
They're not there for us.
They are not our heroes.
Our heroes' stories are not told.
They're hidden stories.
Between pages.
Between lines.
Between the rich sir's sheets and his legs.
In alleyways beaten up and bleeding.
In the sights of a gun.
Under a police officer's baton.
They're tragic stories of dead people.
Stories written in blood and tears.
Our heroes aren't on prime time television.
Our heroes are in the obituaries.

-o0o-

Petrol to Douse the Flame

sure, let's add more guns

because I full well understand

yes petrol is not the fire

but

that doesn't mean

throwing petrol periodically onto the flames

is going to put the fire out

especially the way you do it

by throwing war, bigotry, guns

all into one pit

and hoping your efforts won't go up in smoke

-o0o-