I Request the Floor

Don't come and tell me that it's all just a game,

Because pain is not funny for those who suffer

Don't come and tell me it was just a joke,

when ignorance threw mocking laughter

like rocks that left marks on my head.

Don't tell me it wasn't serious

if everyone else laughs except for me;

don't talk to me about homeland,

for a dead homeland serves no purpose.

Don't you dare feel like a big man,

as if being a man were some kind of gift,

because my strength was turning abuse into words

and filling my hands with colors instead of blood.

Don't you dare feel like a big man

just because something hangs between your legs,

when true character comes from respect.

I don’t have an amusing flaw

or a grace that needs apologizing for,

and if God has an issue with me,

let HER be the one to tell me.

Save your stupid little laugh that spews from your mouth,

if the same mouth that calls for a savior

is the same mouth that fuels the massacre.

I know full well the humor and flaws of the queers;

I'm not here to impose myself, but I no longer hide.

I come to exist, without holding my breath,

without silencing the voice that learned to shout.

I'm not here to take anything from anyone,

so stop taking what's rightfully mine,

and don't see me as a walking bag of AIDS

If it's you who's offended by a sexuality class,

and don't you dare to tell me I am confused

when I've been so sure of who I am,

So sure! to convince:

a mother who thought I was sick,

a town that hated me 

a culture who try to erase me

and a God who wished me dead. 

Few people can look inside themselves without feeling fear,

and here I am.

If I've learned to survive in a country that attacks and mocks me,

don't lecture me about respect.

So, I request the floor:

If you don't want me to defend myself,

don't attack me.