You died like a rumor—
too quiet to stop anything.
Left me holding your half-built faith in both hands
like it was mine to finish. You gave up first—
couldn’t stand one more second watching us fuck it all up.

What a small, cruel thing we did to you—
turning your patience into a weapon,
letting you rot inside your own decency.

Did you pray?
Did you pray to a god
only for someone else to do the staying for you?

Inside your silence,
a second silence.
Inside that, me.

Let the world choke on its pious cowardice.
I’m not noble. I’m not forgiving.
And you’re not here to hear it.

---

Shae is a queer, autistic goblin fascinated by speculative futures, the grotesque—why we flinch, what we cast out, and what it reveals about us. Interested in the intersection of accessibility, disability justice, and design, they are always circling back to one question— What does it mean to be held?