“Children remember what they are taught; What they should do, And what they should not. Whom they should love, And whom they should hate. What is one’s choice, And what is one’s fate.”
Wei Dewdney (they/it)
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What We Are Taught
Children remember what they are taught;
What they should do,
And what they should not.
Whom they should love,
And whom they should hate.
What is one’s choice,
And what is one’s fate.
Children are computers
Storing codes and data.
And the teachers and the tutors,
They reach into the corners of their minds
And shove fistful after fistful
Of corrupted files.
Ignorant and blissful.
Children learn and grow,
Some may even mature.
All those years ago
And all those things they learned
Will stick with them
Forever.
The seeds will sprout a stem.
Children are watered and fertilized
With opinions from those who
Anticipate our demise.
But it’s all just a joke.
Acquire an extended vocabulary,
Of slurs and insults,
As our corpses collect in the cemetery.
Children keep secrets
In well-hidden files,
It’s where they hide their weakness.
Their identity.
Their so-called “unholy” desires
So they hate themselves and others
Like them, to please those whom they admire.
Children programmed to hate themselves often meet their end too soon.
I hope you enjoyed the funeral service
This afternoon.
You got what you wanted.
Blood on your hands.
I hope you are proud
Of where you stand.
Children die, wanting to be free.
Those seeds that were first planted
Have now become a tree.
With the swing of an axe,
Its wood is collected
And turned to a casket.
Buried by those to whom the children were subjected.
Children remember what they are taught.
Their shoulders weighed down
By the hate you’ve brought.
How to close our minds,
How to traditionalize our thoughts,
The reality is that this is
What we are taught.
Dysphoria
I creep out of the solitude
Of sleep
And meet my reflection with
A sigh
Of confusion,
As I still cannot recognize
That person in the mirror.
My body’s
Surface area is
Disproportional to the amount
Of utter hatred that protrudes
From my own
Eyes.
My ears are pierced
With rusted metals,
Engraved the words
“she/her.”
My voice lingers in the
Air as I laugh
And smile.
Who is that?
Who is that?
Who is that?
I can’t recognize this name
You have assigned me.
Who is that?
Who is that?
You tack paper onto
My forehead that writes;
“Girl.”
My head starts to bleed
What did you expect?
You stuck a damn tack into
it.
Who are you
To stick tacks into my
Head?
Who are you
To tell me who I can
Or can’t be?
Who are you?
Strange figure in the mirror.
Strange voice that fills the air.
Disproportional.
High-pitched.
Who am I?