He’d dreamed
a future of wealth
and abundance:
a world of harmony,
where disease,
war and famine
were abolished.
It was filled
with people born
of perfect genes:
a race of beauty
and symmetry,
where malformation
did not exist.
He told me
I was not in the dream.
I was too Irish,
too Moorish,
too Kurdish,
too Yiddish.
My crooked leg
would make me beg.
I was too autistic,
too artistic,
too atheistic,
too altruistic.
My sallow face
would have no place.
I was too gay,
too weird,
too poor,
too feared.
My point of view
would never do.
He’s come to kill me.
a future of wealth
and abundance:
a world of harmony,
where disease,
war and famine
were abolished.
It was filled
with people born
of perfect genes:
a race of beauty
and symmetry,
where malformation
did not exist.
He told me
I was not in the dream.
I was too Irish,
too Moorish,
too Kurdish,
too Yiddish.
My crooked leg
would make me beg.
I was too autistic,
too artistic,
too atheistic,
too altruistic.
My sallow face
would have no place.
I was too gay,
too weird,
too poor,
too feared.
My point of view
would never do.
He’s come to kill me.
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