Not to bend

The prospect
of my bending
my knee,
hanging my head,
bucking my eyes
waiting for pie 🥧
in the sky…
this won’t fly,
baby bye.

Or… to quote my Aunt Lillian
with cigarette in hand:

“Shidddd, they’ll love that one!”

I reiterate
by way of words
consecrated
by my Elders,
now the Ancients.

I will not bend
to intellectually
uncurious men
with bad spray tans;
juvenile vocabularies
of a 6th grade variation
with hate and vitriol
in their twisted hearts
who would rather
that I cease to exist
but I will not desist.

This pen is
in my hand…
and it
will not falter
as I am infused with
esoteric enzymes
predisposed
to resist.

Letters ✉️ from the resistance.