Ally Steinfeld
Aimy laughs each time they open their mouth and someone else’s voice comes out
‘Cause ain’t this funny
Two white non-trans people walk onto a stage, reciting sermons about the dead
The dead, my dead, that they claim, but still used the wrong pronouns for
Spitting names that were dead long before the rigamortis set in
But they stand there with their flower crown shaped halos thinking themselves heros
Forgetting that the villains are usually the ones that supposedly get what is coming for them
That they are the ones that die
So I guess for them it makes sense that people like me are only expected to live until 35
They remain willfully ignorant of the hate that has lived longer than the beautiful child who is gone
Aimy Bartumeut, born September 22nd, 1998
Ally Steinfeld, born 11 months and 9 days after me
We were both Virgos
Ally was found murdered in 2017, 8 days before her birthday
Her bones put in a bag and she was left in a chicken coop
And her killers did not get charged with a hate crime
Her killers did not get charged with a hate crime
Her killers did not get charged with a hate crime
Did your privilege save Ally from the murder?
The mutilation?
Did your President care about husks of my dead piling up on his front door, their blood splattering against his wall?
Did y’all think that art?
Something worthy of the MOMA
Probably think the wailing of the mourning great background music for that poem you spit
Love makin’ the beauty of our suffering a display
Acting like this is some sick fucking game
They be havin’ brunch and be talkin’ about the dead like its some pass time while eating fruit from a soil fertilized with our blood
They tell us to vote
Like this is a case of ballot or bullet
Ballot or beating
Like a ballot gon stop our lungs from goin’ still, stop our loves from grievin’
Like your laws, your patriotism has ever stopped the mutilation and crucifiction trans people of color, specifically black trans women, every. Single. fucking. year
They will never know of this pain, of this primal fear I lug around walking home late at night right pronouns pinned onto bag
They will never know what it’s like to fight dysphoria and diaspora while also fighting for your life
Though, of course, they totally supported Caitlyn Jenner and looove Orange is the New Black
But hate when they’re hit with that what’s good
Hate when they’re reminded of the bodies they stand on
They don’t even pronounce people like me alive before they’re dead
But they have the audacity tell us we should just focus on some bathroom laws when there are vigils in every county
Like we don’t want comfortability and safe
Like choose one or the other
Pickiness isn’t cute
They take our tongues, our palms, strip our bodies until we’re raw and heaving no more
But don’t forget this is now magic trick America
Now they see us, now they don’t America
Until they need us for their rallies
For their funds
Until they need our names and it turns to ash in their mouths
I am terrified of getting killed, of going missing’
Of my mother becoming a river of grief, banging up like a tsunami against my empty casket
Screaming alabanza, trying to get my name in God’s grace
So how are your politicians, your nationalism going to save people like me when y’all even don’t lift up our names rather than leaving them six feet under in the cold, wet dirt
Y’all stand on pedestal made of our bones and then ask us why we ain’t helpin’ ourselves
Why aren’t we crackin open our ribs and lettin ‘em use our blood to draft up their petitions
But y’all cannot have us
Our names are still our names
Our names are still our names
Our names are still our names
Our names are still our names
Our names are still our names
And are they not such damn good names
Despite
Addendum
My name is Aimy Bartumeut, born September 22nd, 1998
And if I am taken from my mother too soon
Don’t let them make a puppet of my name