She was someone’s daughter.
He was someone’s son.
What bitter hate was this
to deny love and end laughter?
What horror they must have seen!
What fear they must have felt!
What torment they must have known!
What a night it must have been!
Her father must be fading away
His mother must be bereft
To know their children suffered
For no reason but loving their way.
I guess my dad handicapped me:
With iron fists and alcohol breath,
He showed me a path to anger,
He brought me closer to death.
I cheated his on-hand lessons
To follow my sexual heart,
And thought myself so strong and proud
To escape the gay, body mart.
But men who are lovers become fathers,
Eventually, soon or late,
Iron breath is replaced by cold fancy,
Waiting a line away from hate.
So dad conceived a wriggly sperm,
That he thought wriggled out way too wrong,
So here the poor thing vainly sits and writes,
Still hoping to seem strong through this song.
My dear mom,
You said that you hate the way I am;
In essence, negating the best part of me:
The courage to say I am different;
The truth that I want you to see.
The tears you shed, ma, were actually torn from me,
The hurt you bear is only a small part of mine,
It took effort to bear my soul,
It took innumerable moments in time.
I wonder, as I walk away from you,
If you will ever realise,
I am cast out for being true to myself and you,
From under a shelter of lies.
I think, as I walk down this new road alone,
Of friends, of love, of hope, of you and our pain,
It strikes that I won’t even have the grandkids
Who may bring you back to me again.
Yet I walk on, because, somewhere deep inside,
There is this voice that strengthens me,
By being honest about my difference and refusing to hide,
I have had a hand in protecting another destiny.
Mine may not be safe,
If you are to be believed,
But that voice keeps telling me
My soul, my soul, is relieved.
03.49am
17th June 2011
Hearts Still Care 
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