Jason B. Crawford (He/They) is a black, bi-poly-queer writer born in Washington DC, raised in Lansing, MI. In addition to being published in online literary magazines, such as High Shelf Press, Wellington Street Review, Poached Hare, The Amistad, Royal Rose, and Kissing Dynamite, he is the Chief Editor for The Knight’s Library. His chapbook collection Summertime Fine was a Short List selection for Nightingale & Gale. Jason is also the recurring host poet for Ann Arbor Pride.




Poets Resist
Edited by Riley Leight
February 28, 2020

Jason B. Crawford

The High Fashion Gala says I cannot twerk here

I’m sorry, I didn’t know my ass wasn’t welcome here I figured since you invited me, you’d want all of me to attend Sure. I get it. Violins don’t make everyone want to throw that ass back like a Luda song But my body been tuned to beats since birth so when a rhythm hits me I gotta hit it back with a jiggle And what am I supposed to do with all this booty meat second plate of cornbread gyrating behind me got a mind of its own Knows it’s way around a dance break And I can’t help but notice I’m the only one dancing here When dance be the only proper form of celebration for us not dying today That, and food which gave me all this body that wants to move Or prove it’s not dead yet And again, I get it Black has never been high fashion But you needed me here for this to be diverse Plus, I’m welcome as long as I leave anything black that’s not my skin at home You want the accolades of knowing a nigga As much as your ancestors wanted the clout of owning one But today will not be an excuse for me to fold the dark edges of my hands Into my lap and be a good house boy I will not sit where you say sit I will not walk where you say walk I will not bark when you say bark I will not dance just to entertain you No, I dance because the gout from the grease has not taken my knees yet Because I can bend my joints low enough to let this ass tremble I will scream ayyyyyy I will look back at it I may twerk in a split My tongue will hang But this body will not It is mine It is fashionable Something you wish you could wear or own You, who duck walks your way out of the function and pose breaks your spine back into the posture of the poise Can show your mother you’ve cleaned all the nigger off your skin You, who’ve been wearing my face and calling it drag came to slay and did. Left millions dead at your feet You are not worthy to wear this skin I came to be the life of this ball We’ve been doing high fashion for years You could never be old to this This is mine and I will take it back one ass cheek at a time.


Poets Resist is published by Glass Poetry Press.
All contents © the author.