Queerly Unsafe

My favorite poems Are the ones I wrote. Not because they're the best (they're not), But because they make me feel seen; They make me feel heard, If only by me. That's not a feeling I often get: To experience being uninvisible, Being indivisible from humanity, When division—the inanity— Is treated as the norm. Instead of being a part of a larger fold, I'm told to take myself apart, To fold away my existence— A "pittance" for acceptance. After all, it's not like I am "Disabled? We'd see it." "Trans? We always know." Infantilized or minimized By people in the know With power to assist; Instead, I get assessed. Analyzed, medicalized, Demonized, dispossessed Of my self, of autonomy; Told I oughta be Grateful for my gatekept human rights, Which I might just get if I'd "only behave"— Assuming I don't die Under supervision by meritocrats Who define merit—asshats!— As themselves, and view lived lives like mine As not meriting consideration. Decades of experience? Intimate knowledge of this disabled body? A "noncompliant patient", Made to stand and wait in line by a lifeline stand-in As my patience runs out, And my meds are withheld. Lifeguards who guard life against lives like mine, Lest we turn the tide. And I, in their wake, Await awaking to my own wake; So I lie, lest I'm left lying On that closet floor again.