Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Batya May 2019
behind my eyes
and in my boots
i feel the earth below
familiar colors envelope
these trees I've come to know

a man stands in the forest
he is from a stranger land
he wears no boots, but sandals
he knows no earth, but sand

he finds no comfort in these colors
no relief in the sounds
he's from a stranger land
yet his fire abounds

i look away in shame
searching for some grace
i was always taught
not to look upon his face

the face of struggle
of taint and pain
of woeful perplexity

don't look upon the face of other
i was always told
and if you do, beware
you might just see his soul

or much worse yet
lest you forget ...

you might just see yourself
Thia Jones Mar 2014
And the monstering comes to this
the result of the ignorant *******
the product of shaming
by society's ill-trained watchdogs
gnawing at the bones
before the body's cold
before the body's aligned with mind
and still gnawing when all's done
to make sure we know the price
to keep us in our assigned place
to monster us, to demonise
to create and feed self hate
so we hide, turn inward, upon ourselves
so we don't disturb
the comfortable myths
by which they live
the black and white
wrong and right
binary fantasies
that allowing us to be would challenge
so the real monsters monster us
and impose on us the binary
of life and death

Cynthia Pauline Jones, March 2013
Posted to mark the first anniversary of the discovery of the death of Lucy Meadows, trans woman, sister, schoolteacher, hounded to her end by the jackals of the tabloid press. On reflection, I've reclassified this one 'Explicit', due to the triggering potential.

— The End —