That poem, you know the one,
it reminded me
of self-determination
or is it extermination?

Each pill stamped
with my name

tigan
zigeuner
gipsy

chased down with a liter
of self-hatred
and loathing
for the names that you
call me.

Don’t worry,
they said.

Don’t take it to heart,
they said.

It’s just a word,
like bird
or river
or dreams

or death.

Just a word.

It can’t hurt you,
they said.

Their eyes glistening
with disgust
at the blood
that flows in my veins

with disgust
at my existence.

Tigan

Zigeuner

Gipsy

Just a word,
they said
as they etched
it onto her arm

Just a word,
they said
as they beat
him until…

Just a word
they said.

Just a word.

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