I felt it fall away.
I felt the space-time slide away quietly—
even though at first I really thought I wasn’t gay;
I thought that to pray,
you generally ask for things you don’t need;
you instead, it seems
ask for things that you want to feed
on. That you think are absolutely worth it to distort—
living freely does not have to feel so odd
but you somehow made it that way; to what ends
am I supposed to find myself?
Where am I supposed to recommend that hell be sought?
Atop my own body
or atop some sort of Kristang lottery,
that I’m supposed to call justice—
that I’m supposed to expect can be termed ethics
because you said so?
Who died (at your hands)
and gave you the right to claim that what
you’re encouraging an inter-continental trade in
can be called hope?
In any language, whatever gets left behind
is left tearfully and frightfully alone;
in any language, whatever you punish
is never allowed to atone
for itself, unless you care to entertain
every last fucking thing that gets lost in translation,
even and especially your very own name.