Imma Die Bout My Queer Niggas

ion wanna die bout my queer niggas
cuz i believe we should live. 

we all gon die eventually but 
if we can keep death waiting 
i really think we should.

greedy bitch already out here 
taking everyone she can without  
second thoughts on the matter.

if she keeps beating at the door, 
i think one of us should open it up
& yell her ass back down the driveway
to that raggedy hooptie parked curbside.

but if she just insists someone accompany
her to wherever the fuck death resides
when she not robbing niggas of years

imma jump up & down waving my 
hands in the air, screaming the whole time

hollerin’, me me me it must be me!
for my queer niggas.

i know bout five of em gon tell me to go 
back in the house & sit my ass down but
them niggas didn’t get the memo. they been

doing this shit for years, pushing to the front 
of the front lines. taking all the bullets & none

of the credit for longer than folks have cared 
to acknowledge their existence. our existence.

imma die bout my queer niggas cause we
deserve a chance to live fruitfully & 
every orchard has its own harvest song &
no one gets to say ours doesn’t sound good 
or should end.

I Write Love Poems Too

i borrowed the last cup of sugar 
from next week.
tomorrow is Friday & Tuesday 
expects to bake lemon pound cake

so will need me to make good on 
my promise of repayment.

pieces of my heart float around rib 
cages in homes i have never visited.

you call him my name over dinner
& say he’s just trippin but we both

heard you even though i ain’t spearin’
meatballs or spinnin’ pasta on my plate.

when we talk on the phone i hear you lie
about the way things have gone since we

last spent time together & i identify with 
this kind of bullshitting because my life
been hell since we disconnected too.

today i heard a poem by a Brit about 
birds & bees but not sex.
it gave me chills, made my heart skip.

watched the new Destin Conrad
music video three times in a row & said
in my head, fuck that man 
makes great music & dances his ass off.

one day soon we should talk on the phone so
long we decide to continue the conversation in
person, then fall asleep in each other’s arms. 

the world is ending if the rich have their way 
which is to say they’ve got plans to be on Mars 
once the world dies, so let’s live a little together.

---

Will Diggs is a Black pothos father residing in North Carolina, where he hikes and loses Scrabble tournaments. His work also appears or is forthcoming with The Rumen, IMPOSTOR Lit, Furrow Magazine, and more. You can reach him at digable.creatives@gmail.com.