To my past conservative Christian curriculum,
Your classrooms were filled with pointlessly popular bubble-gum-brained boys,
bellowing"fag" or "dyke" as the punch line.
Some teachers were quietest,
letting slit slurs slide to the other side of a conversation,
keeping our closets closed,
as they play polite politics.
But at least you taught me to spell words how they sound!
So I know how hate sounds like silence,
The silence that muffled my peer's ears,
Statement stares entitled smiles,
casting stones, forgetting the beam in thou eyes.
We're all playing polite politics.
Political prattle about allowing you to abandon your queer students,
replace queer teachers.
Another distraction from silent institutions,
built on diluting us until our truths are as transparent as their lies.
Was I referring to you?
Or conversion therapy?
...I hope you’re just ignorant...
Ignorance sounds like a memory a youth service with,
I sat on their churches carpet, woven in itch justifications
My arm raised not to their lord but to my curiosity,
I to listen to,
Told my love is a test,
if acted on,
will grow like a bad habit.
Love sounds like conversations.
We’re not building Babylon,
we don’t have the budget for that. We’re building a bridge for us to meet,
Bricks layered in what Mark 12:31 teach
Humanity sounds like the heartbeat we all share.
We don't sound human,
We are human.
Our identity is our truth,
not your lie.
To my past school.
Thank you for teaching me,
how to spell truth.
Hiya, thank you for reading! I'd love to hear feedback as I'm considering of using this poem in a slam poetry final. The reason it's called 11 in 100 is that 11% of Australians identify as queer.