I Should Not Know Your Name

I didn’t know who you were before your death made you famous

There are still questions about you

About what exactly happened

What you died of

Why the coroner says your death was not from

Injuries sustained

On the bathroom floor

When the school says it followed protocol but didn’t

Call an ambulance

Didn’t call police

Didn’t protect you from the targeting, the name calling, the harassment

A school that fired a gay teacher who saw you, celebrated you

A school that didn’t offer you respite, relief, safety

That says you started it when you assaulted the girls with water

But water does not cause brain trauma, bruised ribs, and bloody lips

And now they say it was suicide

But what, exactly did you die of?

Maybe it was a culture where people feel free to take

To assault

To call you faggot, freak

To push you to the fringe

To box you into one when you were two

Maybe you died from an America where

politicians make a name for themselves with laws that hurt you

where so many are anti-gay

Anti-trans

Anti-anything that doesn’t fit their twisted conformity

And their ideas of what you must be

Nex, you had a right to live, to exist, to thrive

To love and be loved

For just who you were

Just as you were

I didn’t know who you were before your death made you famous

I know you should still be alive

And that I should not know your name