The F Word
The term “faggot” is originally defined as a bundle of sticks.
It then began to take form as a rainbow matchbox.
A person once joked around asking,
“How many faggots can you burn to make a fire?”
I only felt the fire of rage and disgust in the pit of my stomach.
As if, the sight and smell of burning colors turned into
calcite ashes would remotely be a harmless joke.
Sticks and stones won’t break bones despite words still hurting me.
These bundles of sticks are many and strong when united,
forged to build houses when others had no foundation in their homes.
These sticks and bones were broken and
used as kindlings in order for people to only see straight.
Ahead.
Tunnels built off the backs of both
my people and my village
that keeps our eyes focused on the light of
burning fire that leads us to our demise.
The desensitization of human flesh burning in air like
the declaration of star spangled banners.
The lack of humanity but the bounty of audacity to hate
the closest thing to godliness as if
angels and gods played by their own rules.
The lack of remorse within intellect and social empathy to
gather the ideology that a group of faggots burn
longer and brighter than any collective of fire wood in a pile.
A pile of dry rubbish that slides so moistly and easily
off the tongues of those who envy the kiss of liberation.
The reason savages want to watch us burn is not for the
light show but for the embrace of the warmth that their
safe space never mustered from the cluster they’ve sulked to.
The witchcraft performed that their jealous gods were
limited from.
A cry of befoulement when they themselves have been
befouled by crooked, monogamous religions and rules.
The taste of bitterness and resentment from the lips of
others they partake from for the sake of societal acceptance
into the afterlife.
I wonder out of curiosity...
How many faggots would it take to watch the world burn?
