They don’t need to kill us, when we want to kill ourselves

They never think of me when they say LGBT.
They spy young and thin and so, so white
And if their vision widens to invite my body, big and brown,
I will never be named:
I am not one of the queer crowd.

My human shell contains a beating bisexual heart.
But my sound and my shape are scrubbed
Until only a white dream remains,
And bisexuals are left at the back of the Pride parade.
We will never be named.

Whose tears are these?  Whose dreams are gone?
Are questions never asked.
Bisexual erased right off this planet
Gay rainbows as a mask.
The very last thing to cross your mind
As darkness and silence puffs out my flame:
My identity is hated first and last;
A terrible mark of your shame.

Who will listen when I am gone,
To discover an echo on the microphone?
A smudge where a human might have sat:
Bisexual and alone.
My old words will form an image of me.
Incline your ear to my remains.
The silence is never ending now.
Marked in stone, yet never named.