Transactivist.jpg

I thought that I was innocent, I don't quite understand,

The Times has bought my story and It's all got out of hand.

I'm now the public enemy, it doesn't make much sense:

I'm fairly sure my only crime Is peeing in the Gents.

 

But now they're blaming me, they say, for this destructive fashion

Of listening to children and of showing them compassion,

For sex and gender are the same, as bigots all agree:

If anyone thinks differently, they're catching it from me!

 

It's all my fault when little girls refuse to play princesses,

And boys throw out their footballs and insist on wearing dresses.

'It won't end there,' they darkly mutter, while inventing dramas

Of schools where half the pupils now identify as llamas.

 

They claim I've barged in spaces where I clearly don't belong,

Denied the truth of science and just can't admit I'm wrong:

A pervert and a criminal, I thrive on starting fights,

I've trespassed in the swimming pool and torn up women 's rights.

 

 

They've let me have my way, they say, for far too long already:

I've undermined society until it's quite unsteady,

Contaminated toilets with my trans-infested breath,

And dealt the Patriarchy blows that may yet cause its death.

 

They say they know the truth at last: they've found out my agenda

Of causing floods and killing God and redefining gender.,

And - here's the worst - annihilating nature as we know it!

There's nothing more that I can do...except become a poet.