fucktard, poem, Poetry, queer love, sonnet, stay classy, we love, we rise, words always matter
We are swine, wild boars among the bluegrass
and salt-stained rocks. We are bitches, each teat
engorged, each rump distended. We are sass
and rage. Each foul word you use to mistreat
others — fucktard, ignoramus, nitwit —
that is us, too. Why does liberation
for you crave vile behavior? I’m unfit
to judge, clearly. Still, I love my cousin
even if my cousin doesn’t love me.
Today’s rebel is tomorrow’s tyrant
without this connection, without these ties
to each other that make us family.
We own the words that you use: faggot, cunt,
‘tard. So we defy you. We love. We rise.