What response befits a company of douche-bags?
This is not about us. No, it so isn’t about us.
The uninvited attention from wayward wands.
Fighting voices fly upwards from the street nags
Below. What makes everyone think they know?
What makes you think you know these lands?
Those questions were mine these bands these flags
All mine. Every feisty voice rang out unburying me
A corpse hard to forget. Expectations & demands!
All hours of the day. Swishing swashing windbags?
No, just people. People like me. People like us.
Not female, not male, everyone else. No reprimands.
If being autistic, black and trans are only tags…
All it took was a diagnosis of FOP & com nonplus.
Often you bang on the wall fussing garlands…
African ebony black, Demur lacklutred no free shags.
I don’t do porno stretches sucking up to the fee
Egocentric humans what do you expect -the badlands?
No longer all this maddening fuss of pitted flags
And then all the labels hover stripped of pedigree
How many times do we need to take the bandstands?
Attachment issues assail us all. That’s the fuss…
Such disorder masking as order yet we decree
Suffering and smiling; all is just dreamy garlands.
Garlands? Yes, garlands. This body isn’t a demo-fag.
Trans bodies must exist bodies too no matter the goal
This isn’t elective female, male dom not of badlands
This landscape of garlands consolidates all culture tags
Murmurs warm their way in on me. What is this cree?
Trans bodies too must exist bodies too. Tlk 2 th hands!
Mia Nikasimo (c) September 2013