29 Hours

Every 29 hours, a candle gets snuffed out.
No one seems to notice
No one hears the shout:
why are you killing us before our lives have begun?
Your silence is compliance. Your shares get nothing done.

You may #SAYHERNAME in daily prayer
but it won’t save lives anywhere
because #GIRLSLIKEUS (it’s sad, but true)
just don’t mean much to the likes of you.

In an age where the activists come complete with armchairs
it’s hard to imagine anyone truly cares.
You can tweet #TRANSISBEAUTIFUL
but what does it mean?
You’ll never see the truth with eyes glued to your screen.

Every 29 hours, a soul is tucked into her tomb
but all the media cares to cover is who’s in the ladies’ room.
You’ve built a world where it’s easier for us to die than live
and then, confronted by that fact,
dare demand that we forgive.

From dead-name’s unspoken
to assigned-sexes unspecified
it’s hard being trans
in a world more focused

on our junk

than our genocide