There’s nothing wrong
Nothing wrong with the line of your chin
The curve of your hips
The way you hold yourself up
Against the truth
Nothing wrong with the pale look
Of your skin,
The way your hands seem soft, in the edges
For not doing any hard work throughout
Your entire life
There’s nothing wrong
With the way your lips move
To fight solely something we call
The silent rule
The golden, unbreakable law of men
Nothing wrong with the way
You lace your shoe
You wait for your time to step in
When everything I demand
Is for you to step away
There’s absolutely nothing wrong
In being wrong
Completely wrong
Fugaciously, fiercely, passionately wrong
Bad in its core, rotten in its root in its
Soul
There’s nothing wrong, really
Nothing particularly against the norm
Nothing too fine, too sure of itself
Nothing that will linger through the history
Of mankind
Nothing that would break my heart
Nor his, nor hers, nor theirs, nor ours
Nothing that would change my life for good
For those who shape my days
Have kindness dripping
From their pores
They have eyes
Full of sparkling sores – sores you will never learn to soothe, let alone notice-
All in all, you are but a rat
A rat that stinks
Like the sewer stinks of things
We don’t take to our graves
Memories we don’t hold on to
Because what you do counts as a nameless color
Yes, a color that adds up to the lives of those
Who rise, like I’ll rise
And fight relentlessly, like I shall fight
And are not afraid of going along
With the one golden, unbreakable law
Of true men
Of those who know
One who acts against one’s kind
Must be left adrift, but
One who knows the worth of one’s kind
Shall never
Be forgotten
Songs will be sung for them
Not for you.
