Social Justice Poetry

Eliza Mimski

Transgender: On Trump’s Seven Forbidden Words… | A Social Justice Poem by Eliza Mimski

I am a transgender fetus.
I am vulnerable.
My vulnerability is evidence-based.
There is no entitlement here.
I am a diversity fetus.
I have no entitlement.
My transgender is science-based.

Transgender transgender transgender transgender
Vulnerable vulnerable vulnerable vulnerable
Evidence-based, science-based
Evidence-based, science-based

You are not allowed to talk about me.
Do not speak of my vulnerability.
I am entitled to nothing.
Vulnerable diversity.

I am an evidence-based fetus.
Diversity is science-based.
I am a vulnerable transgender.
Evidence-based fetus.

How I Became a Hater | A Social Justice Poem by Eliza Mimski

I’ve always pretty much been a gentle soul, mild-mannered,
the kind of person who easily forgives, doesn’t hold grudges.
That is, except for certain situations that have happened to me in the past.

When was the past reopened? Was it with his talk about building a wall, or later with the registry? No. I felt others’ pain but didn’t experience it as sharply until the lewd language about women, bragging about groping them.

It was then that I felt personally threatened, my past abuses reopened like an old wound with salt sprinkled, no poured, on all its surfaces.
Suddenly, my perpetrator was the president-elect and my country was no longer mine.

My country slid away, my past rising from its coffins.
The time when I was six and cornered in the garage, told to take off my clothes –
The president elect became that person.
The time when I was ten and Mr. Aberle pushed his tongue down my throat –
The president elect became that person.
The time when I traveled to Mexico and men followed me and grabbed my butt –
The president elect became that person.
The time when I was date-raped on a deserted road.
The president elect became that person.

I became a hater,
my gentleness gone.
I hated him in my heart.
I slammed him on Twitter.
I ridiculed him on Facebook, bullied him just like he bullied others.
I hated him with the same determination that I once reserved for my abusers.
All their faces melted into the same face.
They shape-shifted into the same person.

And now, as a hater, I channel my hate into marching.
Now I protest.
I have a voice.
Now I write poems.

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Bromance | A Social Justice Poem by Eliza Mimski

Attracted by sameness and difference
They love each other
He a big 6’3 with orange American skin and a hefty brown wallet
His first name a cartoon character, his last rhyming with funny things
His counterpart a short slight Russian whose name puckers your lips,
Blond, 5’7, a forehead full of KGB

The first a hothead, a fun guy braggadocio
A charismatic liar you either love or hate
The second one severe
A judo black-belt poverty child in love with prisons

Both bullies as children
Bullies as adults
Both experts in the art of manipulation
Both hate the news, hate journalists, despise protests
One a businessman, the other a lawyer

In their respective cities,
They contemplate each other.
The first inside a New York tower,
gold furniture fit for a king
The second inside St. Petersburg
The Venice of the North.

As little boys, they suffered
The Russian so poor it is written that
he chased rats with sticks
The American sent to military school
to fix the unfixable

Across the continents they embrace
Their political arms entwined
Both supported by anxious citizens who look past their flaws,
Hoping for economic security.

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