HATE

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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?’

 

 

Gray Matters

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Parallel souls surface.

Tepid, rusty oven doors…critical, tired and old.

Again, the scattering of orphans…nothing but out dated candy for the eye.

Disfigured misfits falling from the austere sky.

Harvested crusted cuticles,

just surrogates from the wrong side of the tracks.

There is a sisterhood to what lies beyond the facts.