Chapter 42: forty two
Bravery
In this poem, we are not afraid.
In this poem, the aching bi kid, who hides their arms under their sleeves, won't be sent to conversion therapy by parents who think they're breathing the wrong way.
In this poem, the pan boy with a cane doesn't have to worry about how he's going to pay for his surgeries.
In this poem, the butch lesbian trying to become a mother won't have the need to endure the added pain of being forced to bury or cremate her miscarried child.
In this poem, black trans women can walk home by themselves at night without wondering if their bodies will be found, cold, in the morning.
In this poem, two brown men can kiss on the streets, and the gentleness of their laughter will not become fodder for the largest mass shooting in history.
In this poem, I can stand on a table in the middle of a crowded cafe and shout, I AM, I AM, I AM, I AM, I AM, without anyone wanting to take humanity away from me.
In this poem, we are not afraid.
Outside this poem, despite everything,
we hold each other close,
as tight as we can, then closer.
Outside this poem, we paint banners, make fists, give embraces, write letters, march in the city streets, break the shop windows, let them know who they're up against.
by Keaton St. James
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