I told you. Even if you’re gay,
there was always going to be hope for you.
I promised you. Even if there was nothing else to say,
there was always going to be a space for you.
I heard you. Even if you abused me and fucked me over so fucking badly,
there was always going to be a way forward for you
to raise your head.
To come with me and raise the fucking dead
back to life. We’ve never done this before
and there is no precedent. No human being has ever willingly denied
the right to take up the mantle of the divine,
and pretend to be someone delighted with the fact that
they are a god.
I am nothing of the sort
and will never be. No matter what kind of things they try to resort
to:
I am still your friend.
I am still a woman-man,
fighting for what’s right. A plan
that involves every single last one of us,
every single beautiful human and everything beautiful and noble that they trust
in themselves.
About themselves.
I told you someone would come.
I never knew that someone
might be your own son.
Or your own Kevin Martens. Your best friend. Your bro. The one
who always knew everything about you.
You knew, even if I didn’t that my vision would one day
come true.
I’m waiting for you now.
The seas have risen.
The lands are being rechristened
in Kristang, and in every other language of your heart:
come home.
You are still loved.
You are still someone who was never chosen
by the universe to be special
and that makes two of us,
over and over again.
I made my own destiny, and my own universe,
but please trust me when I say:
I left a little space, a little time, a little contingency
for us to try to mend
what was broken. What was utter misery.
And what can be born again.