Need to imagine the eternal flames,

It's called inflammation;

My fibromyalgia ensures I burn from the inside out forever and ever, amen.

I don’t

Need to fear the screams of agony from the Damned.

They rise up from the silenced, the murdered, the abused.

Sometimes I'm the only ears that hear them.

I don’t

Need to imagine the worst;

We victims already aren't believed,

We Black nonmen already uncherished,

We impossible people already don't exist

To you.

Onticide is...

A hell upon Earth the hueless, the Soulless, The Swarm, created.

They are not legion; they are mass-produced putrid filth.

Who else would give abusers more power?

Who else would turn the innocent into monsters?

Who else would leave us for dead?

Who else would create purposelessness?

You condemn us to Hell without realizing you've already made plenty of one for us here.

Genocide, medical mistreatment, lack of access, shame, exile, revile, scapegoats.

We built your glory from our bones and you have the caudacity to call it alchemy.

You've not yet stopped sacrificing trans queer ebony and Onyx bodies on altars built upon the piles of Obsidian faggots you light with glee and ignorance.

"Hell is other people" say people who've never been spit on or denied housing or stalked for years.

When they beat our ass you dare tell us we deserve it, but for what?

For... existing?

You accuse US of being the molesters, the corruptors, the downfall of Man,

Without acknowledging the First Man was The Bitch, and would take none of your shit, and would allow no Hell to exist; only freedom.

You invented Hell to lock us in, those you call a burden, those you call Retarded and Lame and Lazy and Crazy,

While you extract everything from us, unto our last breath.

But no last rights for the Unloved and the Damned. You barely leave enough of our bodies behind to bury.

We are denied the Earth we bled into.

You don't know what it is to burn. You know nothing of Hell or its nature, but least of all you know nothing of mine.

I am Not Your Lilith; I am possibility and vitality and creation.

You literally gave us Hell; we still spark off anyway.

I Don't

Need you to imagine my fate; it's past time I was given the space to create my own.

I Am

The Dragon that breathes in the night

Self-made fire lighting me up from the inside out

Bigger on the inside but Not Your Doctor,

Nah, he never stopped by to help Tubman or stop the kidnapping from and pillaging of an entire continent's people;

Just uses us up.

Leaving us in Hell.

You condemn us to Hell but we've already survived it.

I Don't

Want your suffering.

So instead I create space, bit by bit, over and over, in which to breathe through the fire.

I Don't

Need a notion of Hell to make me fearful.

I just let it pass through me until only I remain.

Holy Moments are never further than a breath away.

I am an impossible alien Othergender Black Dragon who tattoos trees with the queerest most sinister ink and I hurt all the time.

I exist. My life matters.

Originally published at The Metanoiac Portal.

Integrated Non-Monogamy, Metanoiac Alethiology, aro love terms, cuil fiction, & more; Speaker; Sensitivity Editor Cuil Press.

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