6/12/16

about this poem (scroll down for the actual piece):

although i’ve written poems about pulse before, i think it’s impossible to describe the trauma this shooting left on the queer community without explicitly including the words spoken by survivors and victims inside the nightclub (info in comments). i know this comes multiple days late — the five-year anniversary of pulse was almost a week ago. regardless of how long it’s been, however, the memory of this shooting lives fresh in the minds of queer people across the world. frankly, things haven’t changed at all. at a macro level, hate crimes rose after pulse, and anti-queer policies, such as discrimination against trans individuals in sports, workplaces, and more, have spiked. at a micro level, individuals find any way they can to justify heteronormativity and outright homophobia, such as when they eat at chick-fil-a (yes, if you eat at chick-fil-a you’re a bad person, i don’t care about your opinion on this) or make fun of individuals such as myself who use neo-pronouns. furthermore, queer people of color — specifically queer Black people — live in the nucleus of various intersecting vulnerabilities. instagram activism is super performative so i don’t really have much to add here. all i really want to say is that queer people will always be on the margins of society in some way. you think “discourse” about neopronouns and nounpronouns is exhausting? conservatives are still too stupid to understand the grammatical ramifications of they / them pronouns. conservatives will ALWAYS be two decades behind us. we will ALWAYS be a joke to them. they will ALWAYS move the goalposts to whatever reactionary, pseudo-scientific viewpoint they can latch onto next. fuck it all lol. live how you want to. embrace your marginalization. you’re in a community they will never have access to. queer culture is so, so gorgeous in a way heteronormativity will never capture. yeah, we’re weird, we’re not “normal,” we’re “cringe” or “faggy” or whatever. at least we’re not such special snowflakes that our dicks shrivel up when we see a woman wearing a suit or some shit.

please note: this poem is best viewed on a computer, not a phone.

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