Valerie! Valerie! Valerie!

“Valerie? But you’re a woman. You can rape men.” And it slapped the fucking police man across the face. I had leaned in, as if to draw him onwards.

“Having a penis is an act of rape towards women!” It screamed and the chains clattered against it, as it started banging its filthy hands against the table. The eyes were coloured with a red pencil, blood smeared on the front teeth, foam falling from its mouth like the dog they would give mercy to and the blood leaking out of the pupils like a bursting star. Valerie was surely some terrible disease to be fought. But her self lingered on, rotting with her crimes, and I couldn’t even stop correcting her to it, it was fading. She was a monster, a fucking tiger in chains even on her bare prostitute feet. There was nothing wrong with sex workers until they would kill, rape and hunt down men.

I looked at her, smoking a cigarette as she knew I was watching.

No one knew the damage she’d done to me and all I could hear was keys clicking, voices exchanging whispers, clocks ticking on every wrist and time passing. She would be an icon, her neck would grow slimmer and slimmer as I would choke her to death, taking the death penalty upon myself, because I would die within a click and she would die… like the thing she deserved.

They pulled me off her body and she screamed, she screamed slurs, saying that I’d never be a man with the long hair I sported, and I spat in her face.

That night I went in, after I decided to strangle her. I am reporting this, as this, this, this… Happened.

I talk to you.

You won’t give her the death penalty, because my nails are dyed, because my hair is long and oh, poor poor woman. While me… What about me? I’m just a number.

A dead woman’s life weighs golden tears and golden showers. Men like women and women like women. Men don’t like men anymore, jury, judge…

So yes, an eye for an eye. I poked my eye.

I raped her, I strangled her, thinking off all these years were her transphobic ghost kept rummaging, making feminism a national icon. A designer bag. A McDonald French fry. Everyone tried it, everyone said they loved it.

Everyone loved Valerie Solanas without knowing her.

I plead innocent… But you’ll say I’m guilty for you don’t even bother to know a man’s story.

Off with his head you’ll say as you’ll close your eyes on Mitchfest which is now gone and the transphobia which reigns upon lesbians, gay men’s deaths will be in vain and everyone will drink sea water to get closer to death.

Valerie’s name will be forgotten.

But like a witch, she’d cursed…

I get slapped by a woman, before she gets escorted.

And I feel for it.

I raped her!

How she wanted it! A lesbian who claimed she loved women! A lesbian who would have rather been a man! Just because she hated who she was with her damn pamphlets and agenda. Well, there you have it-

The crowd boos! I scream as the verdict is declared. My death penalty is upon me now.

Valerie’s name had changed to Feminism.

And I will be the man, many of many, as I kick a guard in his balls with a back kick, who did pay for a pamphlet to see my last days, the painting of what Feminism had in store for me.

I scream now:

VALERIE! VALERIE! VALERIE!

It makes no sense, they don’t know her, they know others… They idolize others as if they were Lenin. Lesbians brought transphobia but that was taken with Valerie’s death.

And so I shall die, with my head held, my body whimpering like a dog in pain. But I won’t even be seen as a dog.

I’ll be seen as a troubled young girl, if I don’t act.

So judge… take off your filthy hands and even if I die today, tomorrow, I’ll never be known… Just because I didn’t give pamphlets to kill the already dead.

–

Feminism lit the fire of transphobia.