Part 1

Three full moons have passed

Since we stood, shyly

At the station.

Today

You make me feel entirely bright,

Embracing clashing patterns,

Just as as if

Without you

I am simply watching trains flicker by.

You chase my ebb and flow,

You shake me into calm

And still

You hold me there

Until I can subside.

You remember every detail of this morning

Picture-perfect

And yet rewritten

To make us seem entirely alright.

We follow rules about the next rotations;

You make me feel as though we can decide.

Walking hand in hand,

Both up hill and down

Feels a little easier these days.

I'll meet you by the shore

And together, we may be

Ready to wade in,

Ready to learn.

Part 2

On the night of the huntress

You have become

Perfectly sliced through,

A centre of June.

You cross thresholds,

A dozen a day,

While throwing and catching

The seeds that feed

The ravens that fly all around us.

I see you there, clearly,

Every day into our future,

Leading me upwards

As we grow towards beauty.

Tonight,

You step across

Under Diana's heady gaze,

Observe the lecherous flicker

Of the man in the moon;

Perfectly sliced-

The following day

He gives a double-take.

A waning night has turned.

Tell me May,

What should we do today?

Who should we be?

We could sail into the mouth of this cave,

You behind the stern.

We could grow treehouses,

Watch them spring up

From our planted seeds.

We could feed

From an apple tree

That bears unlikely fruit.

We could face the ravens,

Eye to eye

Nest to nest.

We could knit together

The fraying parts

Of our fragile minds.

The huntress watches over us now,

So let them just come at us,

Let them try.

A perfect line through luna,

And May has stepped out.

Something stirs, something starts

To free our heavy, beating hearts

If your heart were said to be full of sin,

Would you expect yourself to take on hate?

Do you think you would have thick enough skin

To transform, perform, hush, assimilate?

There is one standard by which we are held,

Be cis, be straight, be white, be male, be strong,

I have tried to stay quiet, tried to meld

But it's not me, I deviate, I'm wrong.

How would you cope without your family,

Generations of trauma, shame and pain,

Expectations I'll never meet, judge me,

Judge my soul, stifle me, what do you gain?

I will not live in shadow, will not hide

There is a reason this movement's called PRIDE.

I stare into the abyss,

The longing feeling ebbing away,

My feelings all shot through,

To be who I am is forgotten,

No space left now for my old anger,

“Freedom” is the chant,

It means nothing to me,

Empty syllables in the space between us,

To be who I am is forgotten,

No space left now for my old anger,

The times they are not changing,

No escape from ourselves,

Only this hell and another one soon after,

To be who I am is forgotten,

No space left now for my old anger,

Time to decide my friend,

It’s them and us,

Go forward or go nowhere,

I won’t be forgotten,

Space now for my old anger

If you asked me how does it feel,

I’d picture it something like this:

a lake with a mystic appeal,

clear pool water that’s still with bliss.

Beneath the surface they’re swimming,

the fish that have claimed this domain.

In this world how am I living,

in what form do there I remain?

Not a fish, I’d say I have wings

as a bird perched up by the shore.

Or a frog, perhaps, there are things

such avatar’d be better for.

Then amongst the fish I would dive,

conforming to their lake routine.

But not-as-long frogs may survive

sans surfacing for some air clean.

Whether my head breaking the glaze,

or the flutter of wings at the bank,

my being’s a ripple that strays,

distorting the lake’s surface blank.

You may state yet

there is nothing to dread,

ahead

the waters disturbed,

view blurred,

are starting to set.

However,

fair to claim, angst I elect to evade.

And there’s a place made,

outside the lake and the glade –

it fades,

the weight, strain,

the pressure I get.

I should tell you how much better it feels, keeping the thread.

The way I’d depict

the scene I see – I’m choosing the sea:

It’s gleeful, warm, cosy and is welcoming me.

There free

fish sway like they swish in the lake,

yet also birds, frogs, crabs, corals nestled and wet.

The breeze won’t cease

its peace.

The waves increase,

then burst,

release the pieces,

foam

adorns the creases.

Surface ever shifts,

with ease invites and pleases.

So I can fly and dive

alive without uneases.

The surface unperturbed remains.

The days erase

the ripples and the guilt that fazed me

in that place –

the lake.

I praise the summer, when its rays

bedim,

we part our ways. I gaze

back as I leave the sea and make

remarks on how I wish I’d stay.

Regardless I shall still away

to whence I came I must – the lake.

Returned to the pool, flat and still

I’m still myself, but you can see –

it’s a shame the lake’s pleasant chill

can’t make me feel like does the sea.

No!

I refuse to quench

I cannot be put out

Battalion of tortures

Brigade of humiliations

Regiment of denials

I am unstoppable

Nothing is enough

To end my dreams

Too great is my vision

To dim in my mission

I fear no fear

Shining like Sun

I come from Above

Who then shall I fear?