Love is Love

“What does your mom say?

About you doing this for gay men?”

She’s referring to surrogacy, to the announcement I made

On my Facebook feed

“She doesn’t like it, I know, but she says nothing.”

“But, she doesn’t like it?”

“No,

But she wants me to be happy,

Because she’s my mom, so.”

“Hmm, mmm.”

Swivel in the chair, type on the screen.

“What if your daughter was gay?” I say

Swivel back, “I would love her, but I wouldn’t go to her wedding.”

“That’s not love.”

“Yes, I would love her.”

“Love would go to her wedding.”

“God first, though.  The wedding is my line.”

“What if the wedding is her line? The line where she says, I am done with you then.”

“She would never do that.”

“If you think that, then you don’t understand the pain of rejection, of being told your love

Is less than.”

“It’s a choice to sin and I cannot indulge it.”

“Love is a not a sin.”

“The Bible says being gay is a sin.”

“The Bible has been used to justify

Black slavery

And the oppression of women.”

You dismiss my words with a wave of your hand

Because you cannot argue

Historical truths

“My daughter is like you, all liberal so I just pray and pray.”

“It’s good that she questions.”

“Dear God, bring this girl back to you.”

“Please don’t.”

I am bitter, I know it, and I bait her and I shouldn’t

I don’t know why

I know her view

It used to be me, in that chair

In that pew

With the recited words and readied answers

The power of being sure

And right

And everyone else

Is broken

And lost

And needs my truth to offend

Them away from the fires of hell

Because to shame them now

Is love

But if the kingdom of God is in us

Then so is hell

And the hell inside me

Is you

What you say

And think

And the hell of it is

Learning to not give a shit

But to let the hellfire burn

So this light of mine can shine

For all the world to see

Who I am and what makes me happy

 

Another day and I buzzed my hair away

Type, type, swivel

“Why did you do that to your hair?”

“I wanted to.”

“You look like a cancer patient.”

“That’s tasteless.”

“But you do.  Why would you do that?  You have nice eyes,

Nice eye makeup,

Only your hair, you need to grow it out.”

“Because your attraction to me is important?”

Swivel.

“I thought you were against being gay.” Cheeky, I know.

No, it’s not that

It’s that you have a box

And think with your box

But I blur the lines

Because you think

A vagina means your hair should look like this

Your hips should sway like this

Your mouth should smile like this

A vagina was made for a cock to dominate it

So my womanhood

Is defined

By being dominated

By a cock

You say gays are perverts

Trans are perverts

But you are the one that cares what is between my legs

And who I let there

And whose baby will grow

Safe and secure there

Who is the pervert, truly?

If you demean yourself

To the position

That is dictated by your genitals and his

I am free and above

And beyond that

I am the gender bender

I am the bisexual and the asexual

Genderless

Nonconformist

Because the soul, the personhood

Has more characteristics

Than whether

It’s an “innie” or an “outtie”

As if no will exists

Beyond the day of birth

Then stamp my forehead

With a “V”

And throw me in the pile of “Vs”

Until such a time

As a may be filled with a cock

Or push out a baby

But if I am more than my biology

And have purpose beyond reproduction

Then don’t limit me

 

You say you love me

“I love all people.”

Because love is your creed

But you don’t know me

You wouldn’t accept me if you did

Because I know you

Because I was you

And I stepped out and looked

Behind me

And there you were,

Miles away

In the pages of history

While I step toward

The future

In which

Love is love

And no one gives a shit

What’s between your legs

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