A Queer's Rage

Aging and Death

I'm scared I won't get to age, that I'll never get to see wrinkles on my face,
Or see the beauty of having a body that carried you through the years,
I'm up late at night terrified of all the reasons that will steal my life and my right to meet death in the calmest of ways,
Up late searching for and celebrating all the little signs that I've grown older and cry because those are things I'd never thought I'd see,
And I'm scared might I meet a reaper at the end of hate that festers in someone's heart, or maybe that in a desperate attempt to show myself mercy I take my life,
I cry and think of our lack of elders taken by a pandemic whether it be disease or hate,
Because what of us that are yearning for the days of guiding our youth down a path that is better than ours,
But when I know that I'd lay down my life that I hold as dearly as Scrooge would hold his gold for the mere hope that the next generation has it better than I,
I know I won't make it too long for they call for the death of my community,
And I am scared of the fact we might not get the privilege of aging