Keep my right shoulder down relaxed, good
to go—I stumble upon his artifact,
a life of madness I forego, as I should;
this homosexual, dear is packed,
ready to emulate the woman in me.
Perhaps, in the past, to speak of such things
would offend beyond reason, so, free,
as I might be, to love Him, king of Kings,
I would be forced to live in shadow—
but things are a little different, now:
my way of life, safe, goes with the flow:
So I embrace the thoughts that I endow—
the only consequence I fear is the fear
that I feel, in me, of becoming all that
comes with that—parts of me, held dear,
but long since buried. I don my hat,
uncertain, for shame, of what I repressed,
knowing no better, and, now, angry, too,
that I was refused. The anger I divest,
now, is what scares me—turning to you,
then me, on myself, thwarting my body,
my health—until, dear heart, it should pass,
having accepted what’s lost, out of me,
time spent, never to return. To be crass,
a little, is unavoidable, so I seek
the right balance between the life I know,
and the life, underneath it, that would peek,
and wonder, where, oh, where, it might go.
Tension, restlessness, for me, would abound
if I stopped moving, alas, from what I am
to what I’m not, keeper of His ground,
author of that which uncovers a sham,
and makes us weep. How obscene, to be
removed, by time, from that which loves me,
subject, ever, of His immortal body,
lover of the female form, all that I can see,
when I close my eyes. Stop the mounting
tension, no matter what, for hate, it hides,
and allow me to surface—anything
could come, love it, be what it abides.
Depressive heart, anxious for me, control
will come, and vanish, just as suddenly,
this is the nature of a mortal life. Console,
then, what you will: take the big empty
and make it feel my love. How, oh, how, to
be at peace, at the end of the day, when
the man I am is at odds with what I must be,
in perpetuity, product of Satan’s den?