Button Poetry is committed to developing a coherent and effective system of production, distribution, promotion and fundraising for spoken word and performance poetry.
We seek to showcase the power and diversity of voices in our community. By encouraging and broadcasting the best and brightest performance poets of today, we hope to broaden poetry’s audience, to expand its reach and develop a greater level of cultural appreciation for the art form.
Transcript Provided by YouTube:
I am black before woman in February,
woman before black on Sundays,
queer before black on Pride Day.
My blacks, they posted up, sniper-ready,
perched on the balcony of my mouth, always prepared.
My woman shudders in the center of my throat,
back hand twitching, waiting for her turn to speak.
My queer be playing ghost
is only allowed in my house when my daddy ain’t home,
always gets caught sneaking out the back window,
running away from his shotgun.
My identities segregate me, split me into thirds,
hate being in the same place at the same time.
I am queer when getting my pussy sucked,
queer before black when I tell my girlfriend I love her,
black and never queer when I tell my mother I love her.
At family reunions, Thanksgiving dinners, poetry shows,
they fight over my mouth.
I am black when saying “Fuck you,”
black when my tongue stumbles up my mouth like a fistfight,
black and not queer when Freddie Gray died,
queer before black when [Akeya Boyd] died.
They always fighting over my trust.
Sometimes I go to sleep a queer woman
and wake up in a casket.
Sometimes I go to sleep thinking about the bible
and wake up with my queer burning on the other side of the mattress.
Sometimes it’s my black holding the match.
Sometimes it’s my woman holding the water back.
Black tells me it’s my only.
The first thing I see when I wake up,
woman tells me she’s my future,
gave black its first breath.
Queer is just happy
we have not burnt its seat from the table.
My black and my queer don’t even speak
when they’re in the same body together.
I think black is jealous of all of queer’s Instagram followers,
is afraid queer’s dead bodies would get more likes and retweets.
My queer, black, and woman could be murdered in the same ditch
but think they’ll attend different funerals,
and isn’t that what they want?
Black cocks the gun.
Woman loads the bullet.
Queer pulls the trigger.
And we all drop dead.
(cheers and applause)
This post was previously published on YouTube.
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