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“A cell. An accident. A person who would’ve been miserable anyway. An appointment. A religious order. An expense. A political debate. Anything but a soul. “Why?” I don’t care who fights for my life. I care that they do. They aren’t sure When my life starts, But they tell me when it ends. My body, my rights. Somebody, where’s mine? I wasn’t going to come out As a different thing. So why am I treated Like a different thing? They knew what I’d be,” — Karl Kristian Flores
A cell.
An accident.
A person who would’ve been miserable anyway.
An appointment.
A religious order.
An expense.
A political debate.
Anything but a soul. “Why?”
I don’t care who fights for my life.
I care that they do.
They aren’t sure
When my life starts,
But they tell me when it ends.
My body, my rights.
Somebody, where’s mine?
I wasn’t going to come out
As a different thing.
So why am I treated
Like a different thing?
They knew what I’d be,