I worry this poem might cause you distress.
Does its brooding tone undermine our success?
I’ve tired of hopeful narratives bent on rectification.
I’m done with audiences who require interpretation.
I’m lonely, I’m miserable, and I’m on the decline.
These rhymes are for you, your people, and mine.
Let’s forget the ones determined to misread my pain.
They can label it as embroidery or a deluded campaign.
They’ll discredit my work for denouncing their sensibilities:
Male-centered, homophobic views rooted in white fragility.
But you accept my woes and you refuse to be misinformed.
These rhymes are for us, those the system has scorned.
We stand shoulder to shoulder, facing out to be heard.
We strain to see the allies amidst the saviours of this world.
Our eyes have been fixed on the horizon for some time.
Now, I need to see your face and I need you to see mine.
The inquiries have been held and the accounts sent us reeling.
These rhymes remind us to seek each other for healing.
