I’ve got to break my mind in like a horse in disturbia.
Crazy as a hatter. What’s not to be crazy about…
Even children are given free reign to be indifferent
Poor things snagged up in viral hand me downs.
Philip Larkin thought so, “parents, they fuck you up…”
What do you think of it children? Anything? Anything?
In disturbia stuff happens. So said Rihanna when in
Disturbia she showed ways in dingy cellars of bodies.
I still wonder why you hate Rihanna? Why do you?
(No, I’m not saying Rihanna is transsexual, she isn’t.)
I still wonder why you hate transsexuals as you do though,
I still wonder why voices from outside these four walls
bring your malicious excesses uninvited but stangely amused,
I’m still wondering in disturbia where everyone partakes; nobody knows with a dead body dismembered on their doorsteps in rigor mortis where the errant body came from. “It was just, there!”
I still wonder why you hit me that first day, the second day and then hit me again for staying over.
In disturbia alkies take part too thinking they matter.
The pest pestering me took his lead yonder where
Two girls chatter in incessant: “he is, she isn’t” cadences.
Then came your opportunity: “You are a man, you are a man, you’ve got a dick, you are a man,” he pestered on and on. My attempts to foreclose fell short. He carried on. I got my phone out; dialed 9, 9, 9.
“So you are calling the police? I’m Anglo Nigerian, living in Jandon.
I will not spend a moment in custody, can’t one make a mistake?
You’ve got a dick, you are a man,” said the alkie mega loud.
“No, I’m not, I’m a woman. No, I don’t & if I did what is it to you?”
I said still in a state of shock! Tears, tears flow as I breakdown!
“You’re insane,” was all I could manage before flight.
“All Nigerians are crazy,” he shouted in my wake.
The two black girls silenced into cathartic embrace
As they took stock of what they’ve done, cowering.
In disturbia I hate that I love you so knowing you
Admitted you all out hated women like me.
Only in disturbia can you be asked by a girlfriend:
“why don’t you get it on with a guy?” she said. “They
All want you. Everytime we’re out their eyes lock on
You like you are the precious cargo they’re awaiting.
The banked up tears began to flow freely.
I, a lesbian, traumatised by her words; end depressed.
In disturbia even no response is a response. “Oh he’s
Sulking!” chipped in a couple as they pass by. What
Do you say to that on a head filled to bursting?
That is an uneasy laughing shop of jeers & pokes.
In disturbia it is assumed my body isn’t mine. I
Reclaim it mine, my only vessel to the island, “me!”
I will my own way carve out; mapped for the tour of duty.
Step away from the gap, step away from the gap, step away.
Even in disturbia we exist our gender identities:
Transgender, intersexes, transsexuals, transgenderists, trans everything, we’re all in disturbia loving only as we can in a hateful world.
We are the tabula rasa of our species, clean slates.
We can be anything in a quilted bag of identuties even queer is a cauldron called genderqueer & more.
We are called lazy, we are called crazy in disturbia.
Working the clubs of Stonewall old and new,
Working in the forces: army, navy, airforce & police;
Working the inland revenue for all we can,
Working pen on paper telling difficult stories,
Working, working every walk of life; we do our bit.
Like everyone else before you off in broad daylight.
There are “decent” folk in disturbia only we get crap
But somehow we are the only ones still smiling, in
Disturbia’s disturbing disorder with our scorching tears.
Mia Nikasimo (c) September 2011