how are we supposed to do anything in life, really?

smart or dumb, boy or girl, pink or blue—
why must we pick a side, like identity's a slot to slip into?
choose the "wrong" one, and they crucify you.
choose the "right" one... and they'll still find something to rip through.
if you're trans, you don't belong here.
but if you're "normal," your pain is dressed up and paraded as propriety.

all we were ever meant to be was pawns
in a game of chess played by devils in suits.
you're either a **** or a bore—never just enough.
we were always just footnotes in your legacy,
chapters of hurt you called "growth,"
the bleeding women you left behind called "lessons."

was it always about your satisfaction?
I see it now—so clearly it blinds.
to you, we are statues—meant to be admired,
until chipped down by your offhand remarks.
and that statue? it could have been the greatest thing in your life.
if only you had dusted it off, looked deeper, you'd have seen her:
a goddess in stone, with a heart of pure gold.

but you didn't.
and it's fine, right? you're a "man"—so it's all fine.
we're expected to heal quietly,
to get better just in time for you to ruin us again.

you pull me close, feed me sugar,
then push me down onto the pavement.

to be left with the rats and mice,
just another body they'll step over.
just another ****** in the name of "love."
and "love"—such a mysterious thing, don't you think?

just another body.
another body.