THE BLOG
20/11/2013 09:26 GMT | Updated 25/01/2014 16:01 GMT

Bullet Point

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To be fleeting is not to be brief

To be silent is to be the thief of outrage

To be closeted is to be caged

Empty cans carry the memory of beer

Belonging to the old black drunk pulling purple faces

By the side of a road busy with routines

Journeys and "Where have you beens"

His life has all but ended in a yellow carrier bag

That once pretended to support his choices

That now contains the ghosts and the haunted voices

The beatings

The children that came with his constant fucking cheatings

Squares of paper

Shredded worldviews

One. Two. Three bags on the old bastard's arm later

The forgotten man's words turn to sand

And he catches a tiny explosion in the very hand

That never touched her virgin face

But pilfered her faith in an episode of quiet rage

The hand that shattered her glasslike grace

And punctured her hymen to prove she was safe

Steal a small thing

Hold on to him but do not cling

The sloth sits amidst the shaved hedges

Opening and closing eyes like jalousies

Masturbating profusely

Until he shoots

Pleasure leaves lust a mute

Assassinating the urges

Moans echoing like dirges

The constant unknowing

The fear of incarceration growing

Because even the hand of compassion can crumble the cornerstone

When men pray the gay away

Empty beer cans lie in the tall grass

Empty hearts drown in a tide of old laughs

Empty soldiers lie in defeat

With the denouement of a dying war

And crisp brown autumn makes cartwheels across the city floor.

I used to braid my great granny's Jamaican head of hair

That's when my daddy noticed I was queer

That's the time my big brother started to disappear

That's when the fear begun to be there for me.

That's when the bullying begun

That's when he first pointed the gun.

Great granny can you see

What a whole heap of fuckery

These bully men are using to break me

And yet still I must breathe

In

And

Out.

"If a bullet should enter my brain, let that bullet destroy every closet door".

~ Harvey Milk.