FOR LEELAH

Silenced she silence chose. She never heard
A loving voice call her by her true name.
Silent she spoke for all who felt the same
And did not could not speak. Hers was the word

that echoed voiceless, screamed repeated pain
they had not let her speak. Locked her away
from face and voice and self she tried to say.
Breathless she said. A dull thud yet again

breaks in our heart. But not the same this time.
She left her words as will and witness. Chose
to end, but not to let the grave enclose
her testament. I put it in a rhyme.

Leelah is dead. Her voice is not yet passed.
She speaks that of such deaths hers might be last.

By request the first Catullus in ages - he's just as obnoxious as ever

97

He stinks so bad, good gods, that I confuse
His arsehole and his mouth. Both so unclean
I hate to think just where they both have been.
An awful thought - if I were forced to choose

I'd have to kiss his arse. It doesn't bite.
With horse-sized rotting teeth and bleeding gums
or gape like some she-donkey's quim that comes
and drips. And yet he gets laid every night

or so he says. Perhaps he has some charm
for girls that I don't see. Gods, make him grind
yoked at some mill, nose stuck to her behind
the she-ass. You, the cutie on his arm,

rather than have to kiss the likes of him
pick some blood-stinking torturer to rim!