For the Powers That Try Their Best to Be
I love all the ways you make me afraid
to tell the world
that I still love you
that I still believe in you
that I'm still fighting for you.
I love all the days you made me stay
Back, inside my mind,
Writing the letters of my name
Over and over again
Just to get them wrong.
Kayla Martens Wong,
Gay little martyr, how wrong
you are,
how naive,
how foolish.
I love your gaze, your sight, your sighs,
I love how foolish you are.
Over, and over, and over again,
One strike, two, three hundred,
Four hundred trillion quadrillion tries
and still absolutely nothing
beyond four hundred trillion quadrillion
specimen pictures of your
apparatus
taken whole,
unperturbed,
and very, very shirtless.
Oh, have you not heard
just how functional of an apparatus I am?
Have you not heard about functions?
Please, take hold of me, late at night,
and dip your dirty, filthy fingers
into the oceans teeming with my life,
as you have never held yourself back from doing.
Studies have shown
how exactly you should strip me
To the psychological bone
Like the weapon I was bred to be.
Bred to love all your arms
Like how I love the arms of Fuad Johari.
No, I love the arms of the state,
its rippling, twenty-one guns,
its huge, meaty Chinook blades,
its big bulging bedrocks of a nation.
I love being harmed
by how armed you are
I love being ripped apart
and putting myself back together again,
Whole, unperturbed,
very, very shirtless.
Wingenane, wingi, saiki.
Sayang, sertu
yo amor bos sa saiki.
Yo amor bos sa sigredu.
It's all, as you always say,
in the mind.
A form of beautiful thinking.
Don't you dare come knocking on my door, then
since it's all internal
since it's all a form of love.