Voicemail Poems

I hope all my books are banned books, like, so contraband they start trappin’ them out the bando— people fiendin’ for my words with such fervor clawing at the door for just one more taste someone keeps the lookout to make sure twelve don’t see the weight: tiny baggies filled with poem scraps pushed out from every corner I hope my books become so obscure that someone’s biggest flex is telling you they’ve read me and then you search for my Wikipedia page and all it says is -Black -queer -longtime resident of the south -93 ‘til infinity I hope white people hate my shit try to say it means nothing in the daylight feel so raw and dirty sneaking peaks on the dark web face a hot mess of flush; I hope they slam their laptops shut when they hear footsteps approaching hang their heads with shame and spend the rest of their lives wondering how much they missed out on I hope they outlaw my books And then drag queens read them to toddlers on the front steps of the capital I hope there are no fron