Box of Vows

I discovered my vows in the bottom of a box

Scribbled, smooth as silk….yellow, red, purple…

the words,

of love and such.

With tannery hands,

I brushed away the

cobwebs.

I gently blew away the dust.

Endearment’s endeavors had been so young…way back when.

Impasse coupled with miracles…a constant friend.

Years of having worn my heart on my sleeve…lavished me in self proclaimed, misery.

It is only now, by virtue of, love’s vows…

I see the greatest gift of all.

‘You have taught me to take life less seriously.’

Quirky Kind of Love

She thinks my words are obscene and, peppered with perfection.

She is in awe of how I prepare for accidents and incidents…I cannot control.

The records she keeps are of all the mistakes…I have yet to own.

In and out of our blind-spots…imageedit_158_5996355660

I may believe love too often tragic.

She frequently believes any love is mystical and some sort of magic.

Self to Self

 

 

I used to think that I could never lose anyone if I photographed them enough. In fact, my pictures show me how much I’ve lost.

Nan Goldin

 

Variation of a Rainbow

fortunate-1

If the world could be its own heroine.  I would like to think it…A sunset.  There would not be bias.  Just spheres, floating upon air balloon pillows.  And, every element, separate but the same.  Comedy and innocence dressed as colors.  Variation’s on a rainbow could be our names.  The end would be a beginning.  And, the beginning, would have no end.

HATE

rebel 4

What is hate?  Is it something that washes over us.  Such as, a child’s play in a cool spring on a wet, sodden, summer’s day?

Is it disguised?  An acronym?  Perhaps, a left handed compliment?

She’s pretty cute for a big girl!?

Could it be that hate is how we are raised?  Ingrained into the fabric of our young hearts!  Red stitching to blue denim.  Skinned knee that scars.  A scar we are reminded of by those who love us?

‘How did you get that?  Will it fade?’

Hate…has bothered me, more so, the last month or so.

I had been raised in hate.

I had seen hate come through as; insult, slap, push, punishment, words…

I abhor hate.

It has taken years to release the feel of a leather belt on my bare legs.  The words of my mother…

‘You wait ’til your father gets home!’imageedit_7_7479129128

The wire hairbrush that lost it’s purpose.  The bristles against my Nubian skin.  The wonder why.

I do not wave Rainbow Flags, like I used to.  My days of marching…few.  My need to display the anguish is more or less confined to a keyboard.

Not African American.

Nor, Transgender.

Just gay and a woman.

No matter.   I am a product of hate.  Consciously or not…I became the minority.

Coming out in the 1980’s; allowed me to witness such blind vengeance.  Gay men oppressed for their illness.  Lesbians thrown into a crowd of overtly bold…straight men.  Watching the world circulate.  Witnessing our lack of communication.  Bowing down, on occasion, to the uncontrolled bias.  Bias that will, mark my words, turn to hate.

On the shorter end of the stick, I still wonder this very simple notion.

‘How hard is it to love and let love?’

That is all!

Simply…imageedit_79_6288492448

‘When the world begins to slow.  Is the hate and disrespect really worth it in the long run?’