In honor of Pride Month – here is a poem I wrote almost a decade ago to challenge and question biased thoughts. What do you do if your child comes out? You love them.
I like the color pink.
But I like blue too.
My father told me I needed to think.
I said think about who?
He rolled his eyes and said he needed a drink.
I said, I think I prefer blue.
He smiled at me then.
I wanted to ask why.
But I was almost ten.
So I knew to lie.
The kids pick on me.
My father told me, boys will be boys.
I wish they could see.
That I like barbies, not “boy” toys.
Why am I a he?
Today, I went to my mother.
I wanted to ask her.
But she told me not to be a bother.
So I chose to live in a blur.
Something must be wrong with who I am.
I am 12 now.
My mother and father tell me I am almost a man.
But how?
Is this really God’s plan…
I finally made a friend.
His name is Jack.
I thought my life had hit a dead end.
But he brought me back.
I thought God left me alone to fend.
Or that there was something I lacked.
But now I know this is not a passing trend.
Times keeps passing.
And I keep thinking.
Today, I told Jack that I never preferred blue.
And then, he kissed me.
This felt so new.
I had never felt so free.
Then I knew.
That it didn’t matter if I was a he or a she.
It wasn’t really about the hue…
My mother cried.
My father punched me in the face.
I really, really tried.
For years blurring the days.
I lied and lied.
Because being loved was worth the haze.
But today is the turning of the tide.
I am 17 years old.
I had to drop out of school.
My family kicked me from their fold.
I wish that I didn’t feel like such a fool.
For wanting their love to continue to hold.
But all I can do is continue to pray.
Jack left me yesterday.
He said that he could no longer handle the pain.
I wish that I could make the world pay.
For treating us like a stain.
Jack’s funeral left my soul black.
His family left him alone.
Now, I will never have him back.
I wish that I had a home.
But all I can do is go pack.
All there is left to do is roam…
I am 18 years old.
My family still shuns who I chose to be.
But there is nothing that I can be told.
Because this is me.
Choosing to break from the mold.
I want to die.
But I know that this was not God’s plan.
This could not be goodbye.
It shouldn’t matter if I am man or woman.
I will continue to try.
To fight for who I am.
My name doesn’t matter.
I like the color pink.
Did I fucking stutter?
Now, think.
H.B. Catherine 