Danez Smith is an American poet, writer and performer. They are queer, non-binary and HIV-positive. They are the author of the poetry collections [insert] Boy and Don’t Call Us Dead: Poems, both of which have received multiple awards, and Homie/My Nig. Their most recent poetry collection Bluff was published in 2024.this gin-heavy heaven, blessed ground to think gay & mean we.
bless the fake id & the bouncer who knew
this need to be needed, to belong, to know how
a man taste full on vodka & free of sin. i know not which god to pray to.
i look to christ, i look to every mouth on the dance floor, i order
a whiskey coke, name it the blood of my new savior. he is just.
he begs me to dance, to marvel men with the
dash
of hips i brought, he deems my mouth in some stranger’s mouth necessary.
bless that man’s mouth, the song we sway sloppy to, the beat, the bridge, the length
of his hand on my thigh & back & i know not which country i am of.
i want to live on his tongue, build a home of gospel & gayety
i want to raise a city behind his teeth for all boys of choirs & closets to refuge in.
i want my new god to look at the mecca i built him & call it damn good
or maybe i’m just tipsy & free for the first time, willing to worship anything i can taste.
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JUMPED!
Danez Smith
there, on the ground like dirt or a bird
december froze & may thawed, blood
misted, crying for any mother, the boy
who called your mama a bitch bleeds
our love for you, his wings frozen & fighting
the cold wind of our sneakers.
we storm him because we love you
& your mama has fed us & only us
is allowed to call her out her name
because we know her name, Ms. Jones,
& she bad & only we can say that
& when we bad she has permission
from our mamas to beat us like we hers.
we hers like you hers. you our boy.
we pool our punches into the boy
like quarters for a bag of flaming hots.
we make him look like a bag of flaming hots.
lord forgive me, but i don’t regret it.
&, on the real, all these summers later,
i miss it. i wish a little bit to gather around
a man’s body & stomp in the name of love,
beat what he said about my next to blood
back into his vermilion mouth, to make
his mouth a beautiful, smashed tomato.
really tho. Leland, you remember
how we beat that nigga? our middle
school ritual, that thirty-second eternity.
later, i licked his blood off my nikes
& dreamed we were water lilies
holding the water down.
•
they were around me like
nigga1
nigga2 nigga3
nigga4 me nigga5
nigga6 nigga7
nigga8
& i felt … safe?
what could be safer
than a circle of boys
too afraid of killing you
to kill you?
the fists that broke my ribs also wanted me to live.
i praise each one true god
for each foot that was not
a sharp anything.
i had always wanted 8 niggas on me (but not) like that.
each hand laid upon me like a rude & starving prayer.
after a while i started to like it
i leaned into it unblocked my face
the bottoms of their shoes were the sweet of a well-chewed eraser.
i was their promise. their ink.
you should have heard them laugh
a language so delicious i cracked up cracked grin & all.
i didn’t know
a thing about love
until those boys
walked away
so happy.
my heart pouring from my nose.