Your body was not meant to be a battlefield
nor your vertebrates land mines
war does not belong on your fingernails
but the spaces between them echo with fire
of guns aimed at something deeper than flesh.
Violence stems from hatred
a word you didn't know until they taught it to you
taught you to use it against yourself
you, whose insides don't match your outsides
you are two different people
so they whip out double the artillery
locked and loaded, their ammunition: fear
fear of your personal brand of terrorism
fear of the weapons of mass destruction
you threatened to ignite when you looked at your birth certificate
and said nope. Not quite.
Fear of the vast expanse of gender gray
that your armies marched across
plotting to make targets out of this countries
great landmarks of human sexuality.
But this is not a poem about sexuality
this is a poem about personality
because my list of ways to describe you
reaches to the rainbows we pray to and back
so why should the one between your legs
get preferrential treatment?
You told me you didn't feel like you belonged
and I thought you meant with others
and I assured you that you did
but I realized a little while later
that you meant with yourself
and when I looked in your eyes
they were fill to the brim
with tears for everyone you'd disappointed
and the little piece of yourself you'd lost along the way
your tears couldn't put out the fires
of disgust we found burning along your path
it didn't matter who set them
you were scorched all the same.
You told me once
to put all my clothes on backwards
and switch my right and left shoe
then try to walk around for a while.
Then you told me to do the same thing with my heart.
I don't want your bones to be soldiers
I don't want them shot down one by one
until you collapse at my feet
but I feel you crumbling when you say to me:
"You're so lucky to feel like a woman."