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poem poetry Caribbean queer museums London

Walking the streets of London
I see history preserved in the architecture,
in the cobblestones and the Thames.
I see the plaques and the monuments
in remembrance of an empire that was once so great,
the sun never set on it.
I see smaller plaques
making note of someone famous who once lived there.
I see the statues erected
glorifying great men who won wars and defeated oppression.
Then I walk into a museum and I see myself
carefully curated behind plexiglass and under spotlights,
I see me with the label ‘savage’ and ‘native’.
I see myself on display for children to pretend to care about
on school trips as they make their way from room to room,
leaving greasy fingerprints
barely noticing me crying for help from behind the thin sheet of plastic.

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