What good can come from your hate? A candid, Instagram-inspired poem.

what good can come from your hate?
f*ck your
small, pequeña, balled,
small-minded...

gender isn't real.

no, I don't need no capitalization punctuation grammar to add to the effect that is yes
self-evident.
bet your bottom-dollar joint-filled ass
these truths are
self-

evident
self-evident: obvious. not needing to be demonstrated or explained.
let me lay it on you.


gender isn't real.
race.
Unreal.
religion. a cage around self-evident truths that you've long forgotten.

boxes boxes boxes

your God is no different than mine or the many multitude around us.
and yet you fight me. condemn me. mark me as other in the name of your God,

one you've long forgotten.

you forget who you are and it's this slumber that eludes you
your sin is not that you're human, alive or woman.
you're not evil because you're white, dumb because you're black
or cheap because you're brown.

it's that you've forgotten.
self-evident.
 
skin.
bones.
soul.
Wars raged in the name of "other"
fools.

what will you gather from all this hate?
when will you wake up?

 

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