A Transgender Day of Remembrance Poem.
“Am I…alive?”, I ask myself.
Sure enough, my heart beats.
I even converse with the living.
“So, why don’t I feel alive?”, I look at my scarred hands.
Black. Trans. Sapphic. Disabled.
Minority labels I represent.
Surely, labels the reaper already knows by heart.
Through the abuse, the hate, the lies, the rape, the homelessness, the mental torture.
Once again, I stood back up.
Don’t I know when to give up?
Resilient?
No.
Survival?
Yes.
Survival,
Out of spite.
Then why do I beg for death so much?
Even with the many curses I’ve removed from my soul,
Why do I taunt the wicked?
Perhaps the reality is,
I have already died.
A body that lives,
But a soul that has perished.
What’s left that remains,
The voice of the Soulless.
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