The Burden of Truth

The Burden of Truth

It is not enough to simply be

   Sojourner Truth’s descendant

It is not enough to write essays

   And hold a loftier charge to head conformed expectations

Nor heed constant challenge to enlighten the blusterous

   It’s just not enough

 

A legacy of strength and forthright truth

   Sits upon my shoulders with the weight of obligation

Burdened to produce more every day, despite blessings or plight

   With regard to the gospel Sojourner Truth

Truth reached hearts and touched souls, influenced masses

   From a pulpit built of right and just

Harvesting reverence and disciples

 

Her legacy should rest on my head like a halo

   Worn as a crown of privilege

A command to become learned and free

   To pick up Truth’s testament and lead

Thirty-five years and I still don’t know what to do

   Each morning Truth looks back from the mirror

Holding her stare demanding accountability

 

I have hit a wall that surrounds me now

   On the other side awaits emancipated glory

Clouds dance and tease rationing light

   In my blinded state I feel the barrel of the whip before I hear its crack

Welts swell with blood and I am on bended knee

   Praying for strength to stand up and endure fate’s puppet

It’s too much and I look to heaven demanding accountability

 

With a wealth of freedom and the epiphany I am still a slave

   I wallow behind walls of servitude and imposing doom

Wasting my privilege and talent

   On fear of rejection by owners without deed or right

Waiting to be saved by ancestors or lovers

   Who share no mind of me and my cadaverous loathing

 

 

No march for equality, no covert escape for freedom

   No boycott of all that oppresses me

Only the passing of time and moons as I ponder,

   Lull and ponder the passing of time and moons

As a slave to the captors of my balls and passion

   I alone am liable for my shackled self and treasonous will

Burdened not with ancestry and obligation

   But ego and contemptuousness

 

A yellow ball of shame rides my shoulder

   Bowing my back and bending my knee

I pray for strength to stand up and endure the evolution

   Without remorse and in the face of shame

To become the gospel of Truth clothed in right and just

   A force within time, that revolution at sunrise, the hope at sunset

It’s simple and enough

   A descendant of Sojourner Truth, blood of her vein, me

In Another Life

In Another Life

 

I wrapped my arms around him holding him close

His eyes were white with fear

Tears welled and ran down his cheeks

He knew me only as death

He was surprisingly affectionate

 

He whispered confessions to God

I listened with guilt

Pleas for mercy and forgiveness

And gentle sobs as life left his flesh and bones

He felt it too

Frightened, his grip on me grew tighter

As if to tether his soul to my body

 

His passing did not dawdle

His soul would soon ascend

His pulse slowed

His tears cinched to a trickle

His body heaped and slumped

Growing heavier in my arms

His sobbing settled

He looked at me with desperation

A last plea for pardon

 

 

He’s dead.

His carcass lay limp

Blank eyes hollowed of expression

Only skin deep scars will tell his story

The last of his name

No one left to speak of his bliss

No one to speak of his failures

His body will likely rot where I leave him

Truth Will Always Be Revealed

During the course of a recent conversation with a significant someone in my life. This individual is not a significant other but a significant person in my life. She made mention of her viewing a recent cooking show in which the cook outed himself by having his boyfriend and several gay friends on his show. Show expressed great discern for his being gay and her inability to continue any enjoyment in watching his show any more. 

She was able to relate this feeling to her brother and his friends. She said she loved but she just could not accept him for who he "chose" to be. I sat there in awe of her casual and clear expression. I sat heartbroken. I had thought she was making progress personally towards gay men and women. She seemed to slide back about fifty years all of a sudden.

I sat bewildered as if she had just used her pistol to shoot me in the heart as if this is what she always does on Saturday morning. I asked why she would say something like that. Her response was that she just couldn't change her way of thinking.

I have spent years coming to terms with who I am as a gay man and how it transpires much, if not all, of my life. I slumped. We had a funeral to attend later that afternoon and I thought, maybe we could make it a double funeral because I don't know if I can survive this bomb. I was just blown to smithereens. I know she and I should have had this talk years ago but I figured we didn't need to have the talk since EVERYONE else seemed to know. She apparently thinks it fine for a forty year old man to carry a distinctively femininely fashioned purse everywhere he goes. Not to mention it changes daily to match my outfits. Love! Love! Love! I love me a Vera Bradley bag. Brings me such joy. I have grown accustomed to the stares. I welcome the opportunity to tell someone why I love my purse and where they could buy their own instead of making eyes for mine.

I regressed so fast into my pre-coming out depression. I bought a pack of cigarettes and a new orange lighter. That was my favorite uncle's favorite color. Following the funeral I went home and found solace in a darkened slumber. I refused to even attend the repass. There seemed to be a great throng of mourners and mingling became a challenging burden I did not need to face. Sigh.

The next morning I went to Church for Sunday services. I still couldn't shake the funk. Everyone asked what was wrong. I put on my brave face and went on with the day so as to avoid the truth. But those words of disgust and rejection would not cease from resounding in my head! Those words of disgust and rejection unearthed the really dark past that I buried and believed gone. I am not that same little boy. But life seemed a little less precious after hearing those words. Life seemed a little less worth living after hearing those words. Life just seemed a little less after hearing those words. I guess I am that same little boy. Fearful of bullies, rejection and disgust. Oh my!

I remain in a state of active confusion. I remain alive, but in a state of confusion. I am at the cross roads again. I submitted a coming out poem for publication in a university arts magazine. If it is chosen to be published, all will be revealed.

In my head, torrents of rain beat my nerve vessels while the walls of my skull contract, harshly scrubbing my throbbing brain. Armageddon has begun and it has begun in my head. The world I once roamed proudly as creator and happy citizen is in complete upheaval. Nights are the worse. There is no moon to speak of and the shadows seemed to have gotten darker. Hope is a four letter word that lost its value at the same time the sun lost its reflection.
Rubble is all that remains of a paradise that once graced the landscape of my mind. Rubble and creatures the likes I have never been able to conceive. I feel like I am in a foreign world and yet I know I am in my own head. Sleep is a luxury I seek but rarely find. Nutrition could calm the quakes in my belly but then nutrition too is a luxury I have lost. Life is lived or killed while the darkness passes. I couldn’t tell you how long will the darkness last? I wish I knew. Unfortunately, uncertainty is the only promise. Memories are new nightmares that taught you with a life that will never be again. The songs that celebrated life and love and gave us such joy only demean the nostalgia their sounds bring.
Occasionally I will find spurts of sunshine. They make me want to shed my coats and dressings to let my skin breathe in the sunshine cleaning my filth filled pores. I am heavier from the filth. It fills me like an unwelcomed lover seeking to unload his regrets and fears. I reek of death and despair. It is how I survive. The shadows feed on fresh meat. Sustaining this coat of filth and misery lets me seep through the wretched and displaced stealthily as seek what remnants of light survive.

Insipiration

I'm inspired by friends who are doing the damn thing. Fit and tough they fight a good fight to better lives of men and women who need inspiration to do the same. I've let fears consume me and inhibit my everything that is alive within me. My talent and creativity that at one time thrived is begging for a bit of momentum and direction. There are stories I have wanted to write and share. I have wanted to become and evolve for the past fifteen years. I have had false starts and excuses that have burned me up quicker than I could warm up to the challenge. As the only saboteur to my success, I'm left to admire inspiring people doing the things I think I should be doing. Am I just bitching or this an attempt to talk through a prime issue that has me settled into a 9-5 that I never studied to achieve. Time to prioritize and make a few decisions. Time t show them what I have in me to inspire!

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Sick and tired of being sick and tired

I'm sick and tired of
Being sick and tired
Tired of your anger
Sick of counseling your fears
I just want to live
My life, fight my fears
Reach my dreams
I'm sidelined by your issues
I'm counseling your frightened inner child
Making sure you sleep at night
Comforted that I'm not a threat
My nights are spent wide eyed
In fear, I'm frightened
Your fear will find me vulnerable
I'm threatened by your ignorant inner child

Counsel yourself
Leave me the fuck alone
You'll never remember my name
Much less the dreams I've deferred
In hopes you will find the truth
I'm no threat and just want to live

I'm sick and tired
Of being sick and tired
Of your bullshit politics and
Ego driven rhetoric to count my vote
Among your tricks that kiss your ass
I'm not that one
I'm the nigga you love to hate
The brotha at the end of your line
The man you consider less worthy of humanity
Than the broken pets roadside begging for a bone

I'm a man worthy of justice
Deserving of peace and humanity,
The chance to live outside your broken spirit

I'm sick and tired
Just so tired of this fight

Please

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Freedom

I've chosen the cell I live in. Everyday I hope for release. I pray I find a way out of this confinement I have allowed to hold me. I still have not come out to my Mother. For the past 36 years, my world has spin around her light. My world has been made to allow her light to stay bright. I work each day to maintain order and to keep peace. I keeps my Mother happy. I do.

I do.

Someday I will make amends with the regret but I forgive myself. Too many years have fluttered by for me to be angry. Sometimes I'm sad. Sometimes I'm angry. I resent my truth sometimes. And sometimes I resent my choice. But, I made that choice willfully. I live with the consequences. I live with the anger, resentment, and sadness. I make due. They are my blues. I do. I do.

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