Are You ...?

Why are you looking at me?
                                                      Don't
look at me this way; don't.

What are you think about -
how you can kick me hit me
rape me spit on my face then
lynch me?

Why are you looking at me
this way?
Like I'm any different
than you.
I'm flesh and blood,
I hurt,
I bleed red ...

Maybe that's where we differ,
you and I:
I have a heart
pumps blood
red throughout my body;
you don't.
Your blood runs tar-black
with hate.

                       Don't
call me paranoid; don't.
They are out to get us,
they are.
Do you remember
Brandon Teena? Matthew Shepherd?
Danny Overstreet? JR Warren?
Barry Winchell? Jack Gaither?
Bill Clayton? Tyra Hunter?
What about the ones who never made
the papers,
what about the crimes that were
never reported?
What about the ones who daily
suffer not physical blows
but emotional and psychic ones?
The children whose parents
kicked out of house and home;
the children whose parents
forced reparative therapy?

So don't call me paranoid,
don't.
They are out to get us.
Why are you looking at me
this way?

Are you one of them?