click your heels together
and say
“there’s no place
like home
there’s no place
like home”
but if home isn’t a place
it’s a feeling
it’s a space for you to
know your own true you
aren’t the heels simply clicking
on the road
to your friends
your clique
your crew
your coconspirators
and comrades
and found family?
is that the truth?
windshield wipers
swipe the gentle drizzle
away from my sight
as i try to listen
and hear
and absorb
and accept
this love coming at me from the passenger side
but it’s hard when your own brain gives you ways
to always counter with absurd logic
anything better than
utter self-hatred
but i’m trying
i’m trying
i’m trying
can i say
we’re friends
in every lifetime
if i think
this is my only one?
i suppose i could/should write a poem
about this past pride month
and all its craziness
and what it’s meant to me…
but i think i need to absorb it
and put it to bed
[or at least let it nap]
before either of us are ready
to assess how i feel
about how this hectic
time of rainbows and shows
and running around and barely breathing
and nervousness and new experiences
and wholesome friendships
went
so…
one of these days
when it’s no longer june
i’ll write about it
the little skip/hop/beats of a heart
not hidden inside but shared with the spouse
new friends, exciting connections,
so stoked to spend time with each other again
a sacred queer friendship appears
kipventures 