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Francie Lynch Jan 2019
Fewer adults are laughing,
It's not funny any more;
We leaned on poles to direct our titter,
Quite harmless in its day.
And Engine 9's been derailed,
We're catching tigers,
But It's still okay.

We rolled our eyes at Jewish jibes,
And salesmen in the barn;
Or the Newfie warning,
Don't slip on the ice,
Don't ya know, bay, it's hard frozen

We've pulled our collective heads out,
We're sniffing old world air.
I liked the self-effacing glibs,
Affected with a brogue.
Now there's a hard line on a country bridge,
Across a brook, or penal school ditch.
It's just not funny any more.
Scarlet McCall Mar 2018
Be a lesbian!
Shave your head!
Be a radical--
(better rad than dead!)

The “Skinheads” were Nazis;
they didn’t like Punks.
Politician is confused,
speaking mixed-up junk!

Shave your head,
or wear your hair long—
You could be trying to say something,
or nothing at all.

Be a “*****”, be a “***.”
If it strikes your fancy,
dress up in drag.
Be a hag, be a crone.
Let your gray hair shine.
Be partnered or alone.
Be a ****, be a ****.
You are a Who,
not a Which or a What.
Hag/Crone here. I was amused by the politician, whose name I've forgotten, who called Gonzalez a "skinhead." Apparently he doesn't even know what this term refers to.
I, no I mean WE will not be defeated.
Now, hope might seem depleted
But I promise that at the end of the tunnel there is a light,
It might be small and barley in sight,
But it is there and it beckons for us to hold on,

Hold on to each other: our friends, our sisters, our brothers,
Because in a world full of hateful slurs,
Where name calling and bullying still occurs,
We need to see each other as more than just negative labels,
It is up to us to look into the eyes of hate and turn the tables,
You might look at that person different than you and call them names,
But all you do is lose sight of, that despite you trying to give them a new one, their name is James.

And James is a fricking genius. No he really is. He is solving high school math problems in the 3rd grade,
And that little James plays Behtoveen on the piano like it has never been played,
But you missed out on all his amazing talents and the best hug you will ever get,
Because you were too busy trying to impress your friends, not worried who you’d upset.  

It is time to learn there are a thousand better words than ******* or gay,
And most of y’all who use them don’t even know what they mean anyway,
So I will fight on to spread the word to end the word,
And no matter how many times they try and break us down,
I will never be deterred,
Because for the one’s I’ve known who are affected by this kind of speech,
For the kids I see every day, the students I teach,
I want them to live in the kind of place,
Where we give up hate and learn to embrace
So if you are with me, make the change today,
Buy a dictionary, find a better word to say.
This might be a sloppy poem but I just needed to get my frustrations out that people still use the words "gay" and "*******" so casually in conversations without any regard to the damage they are doing to others.

“If you judge people, you have no time to love them.”

― Mother Teresa
Francie Lynch Feb 2017
A lame idea's not a knock
At ones who can't stand and walk.

My eight handicap's not a slur
To any falling short of par.

I repeat, Are you deaf or something,
Doesn't insult the hard of hearing;
It only means you're not listening.

If one's blind as a bat,
It's not a slight, it's not a fact,
It's just a phrase we humans use;
I've heard some used against the Jews,
And others we've unlearned to use.

We of habit and long of tooth
Aren't as bad as you may think
When overhearing oldies speak:
I'm just jittery when I'm spooked.

Our excessive sensitivity's daunting.
Nothing said's meant to be hurting.

How does all this sit with Whitey?
Yes, Whitey's what I said.
Should I mind that name?
Isn't it the same?
It's used to ridicule,
Exposing Whiteys as the fools,
By some who think they're far too cool:

     Whitey said so...
     Whitey did so...
     Whitey don't know...

This Whitey do know;
He don't like this ****,
Not one little bit, Brother;
And it makes me cottin-pickin ******
With the hypocrisy, Sister.
The road goes both ways... Brother.
Brent Kincaid Apr 2016
Sounds rather risqué, right?
Like an unmentionable body part.
Not a person you might care about.
No the other half of your heart.
Not my partner or sweetheart
Not my husband or my lover.
Any of those titles above
Will appropriately cover.

No, they call me your friend,
Your little buddy, your ‘thing’.
That last one I always suffer
As particularly insulting.

But, not my watchacallit,
My whatever, or such euphemisms.
They hit me like less than kind
And disapproving colloquialisms.
I mean, how would you feel
If I referred to your wife like that?
Calling her your sidekick or
Something like a stray cat?

I have no problem with asking
How my honey is doing today.
After all, that’s really who he is.
He’s my sweetheart every day.

So, think for a moment, please
Before you begin to speak.
Your lack of sensitivity can
Only make you look weak.
Just because we didn’t choose
The path you chose to take
Doesn’t mean you’re better than I
So, give this bigotry stuff a break.

He’s my partner and sweetheart
He’s my husband and my lover.
Any of those titles above
Will appropriately cover.
Kelly Weaver Apr 2016
Blow out each candle
Your party is over now, babe
Wrapping paper walls
What a mess!
Your hourglass shattered
Time has run out!
No need to cry,
It’s just spilled milk!

Why is your doll grinning?
Does she know something?
Something I can’t find?
Be quiet darling, your father’s coming
Forgotten but certainly not gone!
If he breaks the walls down
We will build more!
Candy houses need less repair
Simply frost our pieces together!
Nobody remembers us, anyway
We’ve been gone for years now
Just drink your tea, baby
Don’t listen to this man.

You can scream loud like a siren
Just wait until he leaves!
Put on your dress and be a good girl
Don’t make eye contact
Hide your wrist, baby
Don’t let the man see
We’ll play once he leaves
Just down more syrup
And you’ll slumber soon
Say hello to daddy’s ****
She’s here for a bit, not long though
Just be nice to her, baby
I know she’s all plastic
And I know he reeks of gin
Just try to smile, baby
They’re only here for a while.
We’ll be gone soon!
Just eat your cake.
Grace Wayne Sep 2014
i walk through towns
modern in architecture
modern in travel
modern in appearance
the words spoke were [trapped]
that fell into the gutters of the nation
      camel jockey
       c o l o r e d
littered the lips of a unified nation that crumbled at its core
the moon is attainable
minds are trapped in ignorant comfort
too afraid to face the date their phones flashed

for a world found, little has been learn
I wrote this piece to attempt to express my concerns with the words people use to dehumanize one another. Written: Feb. 25 2014
Hale Salafia Apr 2014
Gender is a ****.
Now bear with me, I don’t mean it in a bad way
I mean it as gender is elusive
Gender is tricky
Maybe with my words I should be more picky
But that’s not the point
The point is gender is something I cannot hope to begin to understand

Maybe gender is a universe
And within it we are all stars
Or maybe gender is an ocean
Not quite the Dead Sea where everything floats
And not quite everywhere else where everything sinks
But somewhere in between
And within it we are all jellyfish trying to string together a coherent stream of consciousness that somehow makes sense

It’s getting away from me
I used to think gender was a binary
Male, female, *****, ******
Everything coincides so we all fit into this dichotomy
But that leaves no room for Alex who is sometimes Alex and other times Cassandra
Or Sasha who is somehow both at once
Or me who lays claim to no label, because all of them throw up a red light

There is one thing I do know as fact
Pronouns are not a privilege
They are a right

They, them, their:
Singular gender nonspecific pronouns
A customer came into the store today and bought twelve packs of gum
I didn't know what was on their mind, but
Maybe they wanted to kiss their lover full on the mouth while an orchestra of taste crescendoed around them
Caleb came into class today with two cupcakes
One for them and the other for their best friend who hadn’t shown up in two weeks
Claiming “She’ll be here today, don’t you worry”
And the rest of us lapsed into silence, knowing she was never coming back

She, her, hers
No longer will I suffer in silence as those I care most for
Call me something I am not
I am not your daughter, I am your child
I am not your sister, I am your sibling
I am not a girl
I am a nonbinary
I know it makes no sense
But if you just listen you might be able see
To escape the past tense
And start living in the future with me

No longer will we stay quiet
Duct tape over our mouths as we are locked behind closed doors
Buried beneath accusations of
“You’re just pretending”
No longer will we stay silent
The wrong pronouns whipping our bodies into submission

Is not a pronoun
Is not a compliment

You sit in the audience groaning
When will this queer shut up and go home
Isn’t it enough that we acknowledge your existence
But you don’t
I cannot count the times I have been misgendered
I cannot count the times I have wanted to speak up but didn’t
Knowing I would not be taken seriously

Now I will not be silent until there are no more stories of
Schoolyard oppression
Trans suicides caused by a “lesson”
I will scream myself hoarse until
Trans women can walk the streets in safety and
Bathroom means bathroom not
Remember this
As we are forgotten by our cis siblings
As we are told we don’t exist
As you, the cis  in the front row
That your daughter at home
May not be your daughter
At all
Just a poem born out of my frustration with gender

— The End —