we’ve got band-aids for our wounds here.
we’ve got a softer tight grip. we know how to survive when we are hated
and we know how to live. you only know how to take
and not to give. your hands are poison, but only you will drown in the river.

respect must be earned, it’s not default
when most of the world would like to see people like us
dead. so yeah, i’m not going to trust you, you need to prove it first.

and i’m not here to watch the fruit flies in your mouth
or smell the vinegar on your breath.

an extract from my poem “like talking to a wall.” which you can read in full here  [ mature content warning because i use the f-slur at one point, in the context of people saying it when they aren’t entitled to. if the use of that word triggers you please be careful / you don’t have to read the whole poem ]