For the victims of the Pulse nightclub shooting
I didn’t know the word bisexual
When I first heard the words “faggot” or “dyke” hurled across rooms in my elementary school
Like bullets
But I knew that I did not want to be a victim of that much anger, and hate
50 dead bodies
We don’t yet know all of their names, but I could tell you some of their stories
We’ll learn about their work, their families, maybe some of their hopes, and their dreams
We probably won’t hear about whether the first time one of them was called a faggot, he bit his tongue in case a response escalated to violence
We probably won’t know about the slurs screamed out rolled down windows, wondering what will happen if they step on the brakes.
We won’t hear about that.
We’ll learn their names.
Then their stories will fade away, as we dissect the life and personality of He Who Shall Not Be Named.
I do not know why same-sex attractions ignite a fury inside of some people
Here’s what I do know.
I know that an easily obtained assault rifle has no problem puncturing a door with a “safe space” sticker on it. Or an “All Kinds Welcome Here.” I wish I didn’t know.
I know that even the closet isn’t safe.
I also know that I will never know all of your stories, but I will not forget you.
When the next Legislature introduces an anti-gay bill, and we hear “this is not about LGBT rights,” I will carry you with me.
When the next lawmaker says, being gay is a choice, I will laugh in his face.
When the next person tells me that the battle is over, I will wave your flag.
When the next person tell me that we are going to hell,
I will tell them that hundreds of us found it inside a nightclub in Orlando.
But it was not Jesus, or your Bible, delivering that fate.
- Erin Beck, June 12, 2016
When I first heard the words “faggot” or “dyke” hurled across rooms in my elementary school
Like bullets
But I knew that I did not want to be a victim of that much anger, and hate
50 dead bodies
We don’t yet know all of their names, but I could tell you some of their stories
We’ll learn about their work, their families, maybe some of their hopes, and their dreams
We probably won’t hear about whether the first time one of them was called a faggot, he bit his tongue in case a response escalated to violence
We probably won’t know about the slurs screamed out rolled down windows, wondering what will happen if they step on the brakes.
We won’t hear about that.
We’ll learn their names.
Then their stories will fade away, as we dissect the life and personality of He Who Shall Not Be Named.
I do not know why same-sex attractions ignite a fury inside of some people
Here’s what I do know.
I know that an easily obtained assault rifle has no problem puncturing a door with a “safe space” sticker on it. Or an “All Kinds Welcome Here.” I wish I didn’t know.
I know that even the closet isn’t safe.
I also know that I will never know all of your stories, but I will not forget you.
When the next Legislature introduces an anti-gay bill, and we hear “this is not about LGBT rights,” I will carry you with me.
When the next lawmaker says, being gay is a choice, I will laugh in his face.
When the next person tells me that the battle is over, I will wave your flag.
When the next person tell me that we are going to hell,
I will tell them that hundreds of us found it inside a nightclub in Orlando.
But it was not Jesus, or your Bible, delivering that fate.
- Erin Beck, June 12, 2016
Hollers and Hollow Bones Poetry
Hope
Hope is a black-winged bird
Monsters
For Emmaleigh
Bullets
For Pulse
Dear West Virginia
I have to write something for you for your birthday, even though I don't want to