We Wish We Were Blind

March 20, 2020

America has a ban on consciousness, 

and we love it.

We are not a proud kind.

We sacralize death but refuse to acknowledge our own morbidity.

We think if we use chronic codenames and sing la di da

under our proverbial mango tree that we’ll forget that

our words taste of vomitspit.

We put down our coffee and pick up our needle whenever we

feel the grinning, thin-lipped faces of our mistakes gnawing away at our sanity.

Our politicians kiss the feet of dead men,

they cut off the soft, pink hands of mercy 

as a vindictive victim says tut tut, tisk tisk.

We fear that, like an elephant, once laid down, we cannot rise again.

We can’t hear the neighborhood Judas shouting,

But we are not elephants! Let us let this rancor pass!

Our white, American gaberdine gleans that it shall be

Shylock’s Christian blood to pay.

We let our liver rather wither.

The wine is to be provided by the capital so they can tell us of the society of our dreams.

This is a place where Ethel says:

Turn up the music. I feel like dancing.

And then she does. Because she can.

This is a place where we only wear white and black. Oh, and grey,

but we paint glorious art all over our bodies, different every day.

This is a place where babies are birthed with a stamp on their heads,

Keep me

Toss me

This is a place where we get nomenclature like:

[Your name], the lonely walker

[Your name], Ludwig’s last crumpet

[Your name], the articulator

[Your name], Donny’s favorite trumpet

[Your name], the acrobatic mince

[Your name], gumptor of gumption

[Your name], the kind mind knower

This is a place where we are promised no surprise bedroom alibies, no daily tranquilizers

and no unreliable narrators.

This is a place where we can

look for peace in the mirror and

look for peace in America

This is a place where pioneers cry

O’ BRAVE NEW WORLD.

This is a place where mankind no longer has a fixation on cosmic creation.

This is a place where nobody knows the difference between confidence and vanity.

This is a place where freedom is spelled free-doom,

        where democratic is spelled demoncratic

        where liberty is a liability and a lie

        where theology is the-only-ology

        where god knows you better than you know you

        where the only utopia is their-topia

        where your only allowed to wish for reality

        where the revolution will not be televised because there will be no revolution

        where you haven’t seen anything on TV ever

        where you haven’t seen anything ever

        where you are blind to everything 

        where you are blind

        where you accept this because you chose this

        where you’d choose this again if you ever had the choice to choose anything anymore

        where this is what you know

        where this is all you know.

 

We can go to this place if you want.

 

Would you like to go there?

 

 

This poem addresses the willful ignorance of the American society as well as alludes to the difficulties of coming out as bisexual in a Christian household.

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©2020 Q* Anthology of Queer Culture

An independent student publication in the Charlottesville and U.Va. community