As you see, this is just a copy of a poem written by Christina Johnson- a classmate in the creative writing course- it was posted by permission, but to allow easier access I am posting it right on the page.
by: Christina Johnson
“It” is a pronoun, denoting an object or a thing.
It properly describes an entity with no potentiality
for rationality or personality.
It is used in reference to animals, like cats and dogs
and rats and frogs.
It is a term that leaves a bad taste in the mouth,
like rotten avocados, or moldy grilled cheese.
So, when you ask:
Is “it” a man?
“It” must be a faggot, right?
Is “it” a queer?
Hey, why not beat “it” up?
He might be a veteran, who endured years of training
and years of service to defend your right to hate.
She might be a doctor, who can save your life if the time is right.
He might be a hairdresser, who can fix your whacky doo to shine like new.
She might even be a prostitute, because she has no other way to make ends meet.
They are someone’s
Husband, Wife, Sister, Brother
Son, Daughter, Aunt, Uncle,
Niece, Nephew, Cousin, or Best Friend,
and they are loved very much,
and they will be missed very much.
They are human.
You can rape us, but don’t tell your bros.
You can stab us, the cops won’t care.
You can shoot us, just make sure we’re not packin’, too.
You can choke us with an electrical cord.
You can beat us with a baseball bat, but we won’t submit.
We will never die.