Beyond the Polished Turd of Prejudice

A sweary poetic attempt to try to regain my writing voice in an era when I’m told the silencing I feel for my whiteness does not exist, even though it’s a common neoliberal TV panel trope, and that the pain I feel from prejudice is dismissable fragility.

Image: Unicode Consortium

Please, please, they tweet.
desperate for it to be known
that they agree to the prejudice of their white skin as the decade's
hot new regressive fashion redress.

One for the redeemed minorities
and one for the supremacists
and one for the little boy who lives down the lane.

Please, they beg. We’ll do anything to prove to you our culpability
for the invasion of lands by
kings and queens of great power.
Let us scrub our toilets extra hard.
We’ll bleach our puckered arseholes
of shame. Shall we drink the stuff,
and also never forget that for you our shit is all an irredeemable stain?

The rich white men's descendents laugh at the invisibility cloaks
swirled around their shoulders by
rage 99% class-consciousness free.

Well, I’m not buying the shaming anymore, broken as I am by this dead-eyed system. Fuck this classification crap, fabricated by comfy people in postmodern university towers and
sold to people who will
wear its acid against their skin
cos it boosts their power ratings.

I wrap around myself the
dignity of shared broken humanity.
A cold and broken hallelujah,
my own history lost to the mists of England, Scotland, Ireland &
Celtic roots killed millennia ago
by one more lot of fucking marauders.

A breath towards the outline of a
space for renewal if the
climate changed will have us &
the fungi & forests will reteach us.

Beyond all these busted-up
Twitter motherfuckers who
wouldn’t welcome solidarity
if it came up and bit them
right on the arse -
whatever its colour -
from where their own shit flows,
being defensive, fragile, beautiful humans and all.