Made it
to 30.649 years.
Not by faking it.
By just
waiting for a chance
to say it:
I don't want to dance
on the graph,
or on
the decimal point
where you hoped
I would breathe my last.
It's a lot of projection
for one gay man-woman
to leave to chance
but eh.
I've had worse.
Perhaps
it could have been
different.
Maybe I could have
slaked my thirst
for a real, normal, ordinary life
with another set of firsts:
first language that tried to come back, and failed.
First culture left out in the cold, brought back in, and then nailed
to a price tag made
of your own dank, rotting
flood.
Nothing
could have taken up the x- and y-axis the way you wanted humanity to
like a message of sweeping, valiant, unbreakable
love.
Nothing could ever be so far
from enough.
I am not strong.
I am not brave.
I am not courageous.
I am not enough:
and yet
I am also Rand al'Thor's other way home.
I am Gaia's big gay bluff.
Watch me dance
on my own, somewhere,
just out of view.
Just for you to know that really,
it's not by default
that my skin, and bones, and nerves, and sinews, were meant to be so tough.
It's just because the ocean is made of strife, and spikes, and knives.
The sand, and this land, and these Merlionsman's bouldering hands
have never been so rough.
No posts