BXTCH Series Part Three: the ways we die

 

 This is the third of a four-poem series featuring BXTCH (pronounced "butch".)  You can find out more about BXTCH at https://www.bxtch-poetry.com/ or on Instagram at @bxtch_boi. 

This is the poem as it appeared in zine format:

Full poem in text:

have you ever felt out of place

in the only place you know?

in every place you know?

have you ever sat in your house

and wished that you could go home

do you know what it’s like

for everyone you love

to secretly hate you

to walk into a room full of family

and hear hushed voices

and feel cold stares

to be spectacle

to feel foreign

in a place once familiar

50 of my people died yesterday.

in a hail of bullets.

in a gay bar.

in a “safe space”

a facebook friend pointed out the irony of this

and i physically felt

the irony of this

the same way i felt

every shot

every headline

the same way

i felt my body go numb

saw my blood spill

my heart stop

remembering the irony

of hearts stopping

in a club named “Pulse.”

and again

i think about “safe spaces”

about how home is supposed to be one of those.

about how often it is not.

 

about how often i die.

bigotry of my loved ones weaponized

words from my grandmother’s bible

the bullets in my chest.

whispers and stares

that deem me spectacle,

foreign among my familiar,

the poison in my cup.

the tears on my pillow

that fell silently

the only proof of my humanity

of my existence

and if there is a god

then it is me

christ returned

the dead that walks the earth

50 of me

resurrected in these words

but not for the forgiveness of sins

or the saving of my murderers.

rather,

as a fuck you.

as a yes bitch, i’m still here

and yes i’m still queer.

as a praise dance

in worship of me, god

of us

all 50