Month: January 2022

What About Love? Is There Anymore Left in the World?

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3 Micro-stories about 3 LGBTQ children

Photo by Daniel TrutaI via ReShot

It is my birthday. I am five. Mommy throws a big party for me. No one comes. I eat my cake in one of the corners of our living room — tears fall. I don’t care, anymore. I don’t care. Mommy says she’ll always love me — she’ll always be there. I know the love of my mommy. I don’t of anyone else. I want to. I really, really want to. Right now would be a good time.

Photo by Monica G via ReShot

I cherish this picture of my brother and me. It was so long ago. We were inseparable. I remember the day I told him I was bisexual just like it was yesterday. The look on his face crushed me — the words that left his mouth soon after will always haunt me . . . “You’re no sister of mine.” It is a reminder of the love I had and the love I lost. I didn’t know one’s heart could break more than once. And now, I know.

Photo by Mohmmad Hilmi via ReShot

I am “It” to people. “Is it a boy?” or “Is it a girl?” No one thinks about me as a person. My family is ashamed of me. I hate feeling what I feel, but I feel what I feel, and I can’t stop it. I love my sister’s clothes. I love my mother’s dresses. I like having my hair teased and feathered. My brother kicked me in my stomach the other day — that was followed by a swift punch to my nose. I’m gaining thick skin from all of this — thick skin. It’s the reason I can still smile.

“Young people who are lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, or questioning (LGBTQ) enter the child welfare system for reasons similar to those of other children and youth — that is, their birth families cannot provide a safe, stable, and nurturing home. In some cases, families reject, neglect, or abuse young people when they learn that they identify as LGBT or are questioning their romantic/sexual orientation or gender identity. According to one study,1 about 26 percent of LGBT 2 youth are forced from their homes because of conflicts with their families of origin over sexual orientation or gender identity. Physical violence is also a concern for LGBTQ youth.” —Youth.gov

Author’s Note: We must come together as one — if not for ourselves, for the children of this world. They need us. But we are often too blind to see this. I pray this will change one day soon.

Originally published in Prism & Pen via Medium.

Deidrick

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Photo by Mubariz Khan via ReShot

Part IV: Winter is coming

I understand you caught up with my girl . . . Iesha. She’s the shit, right?! I love her so much. Listen . . . Iesha is the main reason I have this gig at this place, you know. And she’s also the main reason I want to continue to work here and get that supervisory position in a few months. This isn’t the end of the road for me — working at this place, no, but it could lead me to some other big things. I’m pretty good with my hands — know how to keep my bike up to par and will have the range to work on my car when I get it, too.

So I’ve been thinking I’d do this gig for another three to four years after I become a supervisor, then I’ll look into getting some night classes in so I can become a mechanic. My cousin Harper has a sweet gig at our Uncle Bubby’s place. These are my pops’ people. I gets down with them a little bit, but I am not as cool with them as I am with my moms’ people. Uncle Bubby always seemed pretty shady to me, so I try not to cross paths with him. But Harper loves the work he gets and the hours, too. I’m thinking about the future — with my baby girl on the way, I want more for all of us, and I aim to get it.

I’ve got two more months left in school and then I’ll be nineteen. Winter is coming, and I want us set up in our own place before baby girl gets here. Moms keeps telling me I don’t have to rush about things, but I know we can’t all cram up in my parents’ place. I don’t want any tension — not that this is a thing now. I just know when spaces get tight, people lose themselves a little. I mean, I had to share a room with my kid brother in our last place, and lemme tell you, I was so close to laying that little man out on several occasions. I just don’t want anything out of the ordinary for my girls.

It gets cold as hell here in Columbus. The place my cousin owns — the housing building. He’s still offering it to us, and I am going to jump on it. Gotta call him this weekend. He said, all we have to pay is $350.00 upfront, a month before we move in, and then our monthly rate of $925.00. We already have that and then some. I am also meeting with Amar’s uncle Khalil this weekend too. I’m taking my uncle Rick with me so we can give this vehicle a proper view. I hope this cat doesn’t try to stiff me. If so, my uncle Rick will step up to the plate.

I can handle my own — but Unc won’t let me. Not with my elders. He takes over then.

With our own roof over our heads and a proper vehicle for Iesha and my baby girl, and me soon-to-be-done with school, a lot of the stress will disappear. We’ve endured many winters here in Columbus, but this’ll be our first out on our own, and with a baby. I keep telling you I’m scared, but I’m also just ready to see her — to hold her — to take care of her. I don’t want any bullshit around her and I’ve let my pops’ people know. They are a bit on the crazy side, and I don’t want that shit around my baby girl.

I don’t want her head filled with any nonsense, and I mean that.

Iesha ain’t having it, either. She may have seemed cool, calm, and collected to you, but don’t cross her. You hear me, man? Her ancestors are liable to help her out and they will outnumber you. It’s why I stay on the straight and narrow. I know I have a good, strong woman, and I don’t need anyone to tell me. I see it every single day in her. She amazes me. I don’t want anyone else on this path with me. We’re young, but I assure you, we ain’t dumb.

You know the drill — I gotta get in here and make this money. This wind is picking up too. Get yourself to a safe and warm place.

Be easy, man.

Originally published in soliloque via Medium.

Part I, Part II, and Part III

Your Poem From Me Request #1

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The Giving Cause: Aging in a World of Uncertainties

Photo by Marco Del Pozzo via ReShot

As each year piles on–
Clinging to my skin,
Barnacles of the modern world,
I find myself staring death
In his face.

I walk into another year,
Carrying my past–lugging
Around decades of old
Habits and eons of new pain.
I fear the embrace of
The inevitable–the end of change.

I am supposed to move forward
In life, grateful for breath;
Thankful for air, but the demons
Overcrowd my thoughts, and the
Finality of life’s end is my
Own personal horror.

I open my mouth to scream–
Nothing escapes.
This is where I live now–
On the corner of the aged,
And up the street
From the dying.

I knock on the door of
The present, and no one
Answers.

Thank you to Matt Snyder for allowing me to gift a poem to you. It has been my pleasure.

To learn more about the Your Poem From Me: The Giving Cause, click here. Let me write a poem for you. I can give it life.

Your Poem From Me

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For some of you who may not have seen this . . . the first gift poem posts tomorrow. This is my way of giving back, and most times, the only way I can do that is through words.

Let me write a poem for you. I can give it life.

trE's avatarA Cornered Gurl

The Giving Cause

Photo by Suzy Hazelwood via Pexels

Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.

Carl Sandburg via BrainyQuote

I feel moved . . . compelled to do this. I have had this idea dancing about in my mind for a few weeks now, and with the world still spinning away from where we need it to be, the timing feels right. Poetry has always been my way of communicating when I did not know how to say what needed to be said. It is a way of me being able to connect with this community and other writing communities–an expression of everything I can emote, but has trouble leaving my lips and making its way into the ether. I know I am not alone when I share this–writers, especially those of us more akin and in tune to poetry, rely on our words to heal, help…

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