A PanAfricanist Queer Womanist Collective
By Lara Gemini Poet
I think one day my own sorrows will get used to the same stage, same audience and same soul. I wonder if it is aware that I no longer live in this life. I have never been of this earth. My father told me many times that I am nothing, of nothing, for nothing to nothing and no one. I believed him for 16 years. I mean, he was my father.
The day my twin sister was poisoned to death, I promised to never cry anymore. To no longer question God. I promised. I PROMISED! *sigh* Life is so bitter sometimes and I bet you agree. It’s not like a rainbow; allusively colorful. I bet even angels have never touched it.
The same angels that blocked me with insanity the whole night when strangers engulfed with rock stone dicks hounded, pounded, crushed, shattered my womb, spitting in my womanhood! Not that I blame them, I hated myself somehow. In that I found almost logical hate for God, my mother’s womb, the mirrors that reflect my existence yet not the sins of homophobes and priests! Even then I didn’t cry, I had promised not to. I only tried to walk, one foot after the other blowing back and forth with the wind but….. insanity is cruel. Pain is petty; it would do anything to dance on stages.
So here I was… 17, gay, black and very much insane with no tear in the eye determined to be the first human to defeat nature’s intentions! I was not ready to cry, unsure of love, I was not grown, neither a woman nor broken I was just there… eloping with nothing, of nothing to nothing for nothing just as my father had said. Hurt people, hurt people. I understand that now after so many women that tried to nurture and heal me but how do you heal someone that refuses to cry; to acknowledge pain for what it is… the inevitable. Do you see how psychotic beings cheat strength? The first one I “loved” hates all women today, the second one died so I would know, many others still hate the sound of my name and I’m sure they are hurt people also hurting other people too.
Last year, I met someone that chose to kiss me more she spoke and smiled more than she tried to plaster my soul and when I couldn’t speak wanting to be left alone with the voices in my head she’d ask me if they mind if she came to play. We’d all play together and eventually the voices got jealous and left me-now this was tricky; somehow their departure made me human.
I remember the first day my soul wept, it sobbed for days until I was blind, my face was swollen, admitting and forgiving so many things were grains of salt in my deepest most bleeding open wounds! I even tried hugging my own brother, trying to see if his scent wouldn’t trigger how much I loathe men… I puked but only once. He held me so close and told me love is what he has given me, his gentle self that embraces my tears and I held him back and broke my promise and wept. I wept for all the days I could have but didn’t. I wept for the pain my womb confessed to me and I silenced it. I wept for all the women I could have related to, women I could have loved, people I could have held as broken as I was. I wept for children who still were to lose their innocence, for mothers who lost their children, for my mother because I never got the courage to say I’m sorry! I wept for the Thank you I could have whispered to god for making Him weep for me! I wept because I felt lighter.
I wept because I was in love.
And I love myself.
I love you. I… love…. you