Each day I sit among the jostling noise
Of dynamic dissonance that pervades my senses
And relinquishes any hope of peace
In the absence of sound, voices
That never quite reach harmony
but waver as wave-like shadows between realms
Of pure melodious expression and heart-wrenching wails.
Listen. My teacher tells me this
As I cringe and press onward in lonely agony
Wanting desperately the unification
such an art form had promised my starving soul.
Listen, He says, or you will never see
A day in which hands can clasp each other
In unmocked sincerity of oneness,
where it is safe to belong to more than just yourself.
Listen. This is the only way
To see your children smile
With unblemished joy in the world
which you forced them into.
Listen, he says, like I never could,
Like my father never would,
Listen to the words, the mistakes
that these voices send into the atmosphere.
Listen. Please. For us,
Who have ever had a voice,
who cried in locked cupboards,
Listen, and Hear.
For the teacher who does the unimaginable, and for everyone who shares his bravery to love more than someone's gender, I hope that one day you will be heard without having to ask.