god gave me two hands and i know how to pick the meat out of a skull it tastes like the sap of some forsaken tree which was it whose blessing seeped out from under the bathroom stall nine for the times i blinked four for the times i salted my own skin like cutting an onion each layer peeled gets more fucked up white grief makes my tears look coincidental what you so sad for did your love forget where the finish line was did the blood stain your honeymoon some of us got more color than a rainbow i took out some rage to thaw boiled it in a pot to stew kept the lid on don't want it to smell up the house don't know who else might want to consume me today a month goes by quickly this club seems has a lot of gaze i dance like nobodies watching cause they are white man clapping like i won an award for something like i spend my day practicin' so i can get my ass to pop just right for him my eyelashes wished they’d never parted ways if i didn't wake up that night was just a dream they wouldn't have been crucified funny how many people gonna pray over them now no. not funny. sickening. two hands grasping hips grasping face grasping ass o holy night the stars are brightly shining fall on your knees hear the angel voices then the gunshots

Justice Ameer is an emerging Black trans poet striving to become unapologetic. "i'm Black, i'm used to mourning often and fruitlessly. i'm a trans woman, i'm used to mourning alone without anyone to care with or for me. i thought long and hard about whether i wanted to make my mourning available for consumption. and i answered no. but i also realized, i'm not just mourning for me. i can't reach out to all the qpoc who need it right now. but maybe my words can reach a few more than i can. maybe we can heal and not heal together, even when we're not."

Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published weekly by Glass Poetry Press. All contents © the author.