The Burning South

I got called a faggot last night.

My girlfriend and I,

both trans,

walking home.

They had a shotgun. And a bullhorn.

Scared for our lives we ran to the only open building.

But I’m not leaving the south.

I saw a man with a Trump hat in my ecology lab.

I almost hit him. He wants me dead.

He’s in my group. We have to work together.

I loathe him. I loathe what he stands for.

But I’m not leaving the south.

My family came, fully formed from the mountains.

We tried to get out, my grandparents looking for a “better life”.

But like a dryad from her tree I cannot go far.

Though I grew up in foreign lands, I cannot go far.

I see my siblings, queer folk, who left out of fear come back out of love.

These mountains are older than my people

They’re older than the people before me.

Though The Corrupted want me dead

I won’t leave my home.

I’m not leaving the south.