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909 · Jan 2020
speaking sunday.
ianne Jan 2020
so the Bible said
Adam and Eve
not Adam and Steve
or Eve and Stacy
or anything else in between
i sat in church last Sunday
and unknowingly, as the priest spoke
i got a
headache.

let me tell you about someone who spoke
jackhammer
into my bones and nails in my skin
how we want to go to sleep
but cant
because the way her texts sound in my head
keep my body from making more melatonin
she is way too bright
to stay in my life

i get home everyday and my family asks me
if i've met a good man yet
they started dating at 16, they said
if you don't find a boyfriend soon
people might think you're gay, they said
my mother's voice sound like
ice-pick on grass, silent and blunt
tears out chunks of me every time she swings
my father makes gay jokes at the dinner table
saying how ***** they can be
blame the victim for the disease
and i can't keep living this double life

let me tell you about a girl
all jack-hammered sunflower
light green footsteps on rose
her laugh is so unforgettable
i forgot how to speak sunday
let me tell you about a girl
so ******* gorgeous
get-anyone-to-do-anything
got me wrapped around her finger
golden guardrail with my grasping for my life
her every sentence an adventure
every moment together seemed to defy time

i still life with my parents
still surrounded
seeing stained glass sundays
heteronormativity in the carpets
we went to a different church last week
and the Gospel called me out
said that to love is to love
and to be loved is to loved
so why, God, did you will me into existence
when love isn't my strongest sense?

three pews across mine
a familiar flair of blue and white
the hymns of yellow and jackhammer spark
we lock our eyes and she unlocks my heart
with a smile
let me tell you about someone
who spoke jackhammer and conviction
all rainbow and bleeding
her every step lift step
turn
spreading color into places that didn't believe in their existence

maybe someday i wouldn't have to live on a tightrope
and i could open my mouth and let her name fall off my tongue
without worrying why and who threw the first brick at Stonewall

maybe someday
i could come home with her in hand
let her speak jackhammer blaze into my walls
and renovate the way my parents know me
change the pattern in our floorboards
switch the vocabulary in their speech
but that's someday, not today
so i will pretend to speak sunday
and beg forgiveness in someone who i'm told doesn't tolerate me
while i wait for these jackhammer to break down these walls
and instead of us fighting
let everything else
fall.



copyright | ianne.
i came out to my parents recently as both gay and non-binary. i was greeted with many trips to our local catholic church. the rest can speak for itself.
132 · Jan 2020
oh, sunny day.
ianne Jan 2020
this wasn't planned
this wasn't carefully calculated
concise and conjugated
it didn't take shortcuts to get here
everything was slow and steady and not yet ready
neither of us expected it this much this heavy
but we aren't complaining
she was more built on straightforward apostrophe and i am made more of poetic integrity
she told me shes alto-tenor and i alto-soprano
we completed each other when we kissed
may that be half a world away or an inch
and still i remember our conversations as dreams i would always miss
there is nothing 15 hours cant fix
good god gorgeous girl i cannot stop being surprised by you
and yet everything that you throw at me feels so very, very
you are so very, very
and i still can never get enough of that
whatever that is that you have
please never stop showing the world your smile
with or without teeth it will still be the same kind of bright
the cliche light-up-the-whole-street kind
but only if that was the street i live on
constantly walk down on
i would love to be down on-
we’re getting too out of hand here
with all this almost-love talk i get distracted by the beating of our hearts
we’re close enough that we can hear it but far away enough that i cant reach
i don't want this poem to end up a speech so last but not least
please dont stop being radiant
don't cease being vibrant
never let the moon shadow your sun in an Apocalypse version of an eclipse
don't let someone else make your world end
and i know what we said when we promised to grounded
but its more like you to root yourself before branching
a solid foundation never hurt anyone and you never stopped trying
good god gorgeous girl
grant me the honor of being your clear cling wrap moon
envelope myself into the way you shine
its attractive to me like that
good god gorgeous girl
this is the legend that i write
lets make it happen sometime
a poem i wrote about a girl who spoke yellow.
105 · Jan 2020
presentation.
ianne Jan 2020
a surprise.
one that greets with fire
but not through candle
it is match stick
spark lit
aggressive heat that the brain fights to suppress
it was 2 in the afternoon when it happened
no warning sign
no bright red label
surrounded with people i knew
and god, they k n e w
i didnt think it would happen like that
a slow hum of sharp fear
blue flame familiarity
its embers buried inside of my toothpick ribcage
i couldnt get it out in time
and so the panic set in.
im afraid to ask if anyone else here is no stranger to that introduction
like a song that begins with the loud part
and only the loud part
and it is constantly the loud part
red spilling into your eardrums
clanging around the tympanic membrane and right down to your gut
it looks like boulders
like the Grand Canyon splitting
or a forever small box
the way it looked never changed.
seeing the pale blue crystal in tears
hard, burned oak in my fists
egg-shell knuckled but ready to rip limb from limb
and then it evaporates.
like the way fog breath disappears into the air
it mixes in with the sadness.
and i apologize if this is too graphic but
it looks like an eclipse
if our era was set in BC 196
because you see its like a volcano
and maybe someone else has said it was like that too
but it is.
it is your brain-skin melting
and resolidifying
within the span of only 15 minutes or less
it's breathing in nails
in thirsty desert
but when my body tires of this
I trust in myself that it will
my blood find their wave of calm
i will remember the bright yellow of you
the pale periwinkle smile
and warm kind of blue.
a poem i wrote after a panic attack three minutes before going on stage for slam.

— The End —