just write through
the pain and
the loss and
the lost feelings and
the sleepiness and
the exhaustion and
the boredom and
the mundanity and
the distractions and
the battles and
the fight and
when the fight leaves us
for an hour or a day or a year
or so
we can write ourselves
back into the fight
if it means enough to us
[and yes, it means enough
to me]
i’ve been legislated out of existence
[or so some people seem to hope]
but i still feel pretty damn real
so try something else,
you absolute
fools.
kip and i have been adding
“for the resistance”
to the end of any task we do
because keeping our
queer
mentally ill
trans
asses
alive
is 100% part of the resistance
so we are making bagels
for the resistance
and taking lovely walks
for the resistance
and playing video games
for the resistance
and writing poetry
for the resistance
and loving each other
for the resistance
and loving ourselves
for the resistance
it is resisting everyone who says we don’t belong
on this planet
that clearly holds us close
and loves us
that we do
for the
resistance
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
here is pride
a thing i feel every now and then
and today, small town america
helped me feel
proud once again
what a bizarre happenstance
queer
people
in positions of power
in the film industry
(at least the parts i’ve been a part of)
always help
create an atmosphere
of love
and respect
and care
and what the industry
could be
it’s always interesting to me
to see loud queers in the wild.
while it no longer feels as it did in the
early 2000’s—
where each tiny indication
screamed so loudly
but only we could hear;
where acknowledging each other
on the street
seemed a sacred secret
shared by head nods
and the rare smile
at even rarer held hands.
these days there seems to be
more queer
than not queer
(at least here, in nyc)
but there’s still a moment
for rainbow hair
and rainbow Keith Haring button-up
to share
mutual
queer
joy
from across a crowded 1 train
and be completely delighted
by each other
through eye-crinkling smiles
(the kind seen even behind masks)
and hands making heart-shapes,
asl thank you’s,
and waves goodbye.
and i think that’s
beautiful.
theorizing
contemplating
mind-experimenting
camp
villains
trans
queer-coded
self-determination
everything’s a performance
let’s just have all the fun we can
[and someday tell our own stories
out
loud]
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
i haven’t really thought of
Valentine’s Day
in so long.
as a child it merely meant i’d probably get candy
that day
in school
(which, i’ll admit, was pretty cool).
as a teen,
highly aware of my own diverging sexuality,
i only saw loud reinforcements of
heteronormativity
and having that binaried bullshit shoved down my throat.
with Kip, the year they wooed me, they sent four presents
on one Valentine’s
(keep in mind we were not even officially dating at that point)
a song
a string of lights
a website
and origami roses.
and yes, we used to go to the melting pot,
or grab oysters,
or have some sort of dinner;
but COVID and coziness
and now our Valentimes look more like any other time.
but i don’t worry
because we still get excited in the morning to say
“Happy Valentine’s Day!!!”
to each other
kipventures 