Broccoli Glue and You

How does it feel

To look in a mirror

And see...nothing?

Ancestors know

But if they speak to us

At all

It's mum

Bo.

Blacks know

Jews know too

So do Rohingya, Muslim, Armenian

So too Gay, Trans, Bi

All part of the lesser-than

The dimmer sky

While the cognoscente

Walk right by

You.

They annihilate with a glance

Cringe

In a dance

Of apprehension, aversion, revulsion.

You might contaminate

Self-replicate

Taint.

It just ain't

Safe

Near you.

but...

It ain't your faith

Your gonads

Your skin.

Face it

You're different

And that's your sin.

It's only safe

If you're rich

Male

And pale.

A dreamcrunch as stale

As DNA stew

As armpits

Green nostrils

And broccoli glue.

Always another

Who wants your space.

One way or another

Life will erase

That face

In your mirror.

And if it does not

Or forgot

To disallow you

Disavow you

One day or another

Inevitability

Will plough you

Under.

So what's the cure?

I'm not sure.

But at least

At a minimum

Dare to BE

Crush the impossible

Grab the incredible

Own the phenomenal

Fairy-tale whimsical

Phantasmagorical

Rare and remarkable

One-of-a-kindable

You.

c. Corinne Whitaker 2018