The no-gender agenda

Sort the court to kings and to queens.

Each side of the wall. Lined up.

Straight back. No in between.

One born to rule.

The other born without cock.

Dare I to ask?

Please speak with me:

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?

Let’s try again.

Cars. Boys.

Dresses. Girls.

Dogs. Boys.

Cats. Girls.

Weapons of manslaughter. Boys.

Centuries of being oppressed. Girls.

Cigars. Boys.

Baking. Girls.

Mathematics. Boys.

Rainbows. Girls.

Oh boy, let’s paint the world in black and white.

Let’s say her skirt’s too short, his pants too tight.

Let’s smash every shape into a bloody pulp,

So it fits into the tiny box we call societal norm.

Don’t question it, don’t think about why.

Don’t object, don’t ask what’s up.

But if I had one question,

Speak with me:

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?

We shall write the no-gender agenda

And not put it in stone.

We write with our blood, nails and tears

And scratch into bone.

To be queer can feel like you‘re out of luck.

It just leaves you shaking your head,

Asking the question:

Which toilet should I go to?

…

Yes, that and

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?