One night as I lay to rest
In my mind came a man from my past
It was my very own great grandfather
For a moment he was not a bother
Then I remembered he had died

The old man looked as good as he ever had
But his features looked tired and sad
He said “Hey Ashie, how’s life treating ya” as if nothing had changed
I looked at him and muttered, “I must be deranged”
We sat down on the porch of his now deceased wife’s home.

The weather and school and how much things had moved on
As he had passed when I was four, he was not sure if anything was wrong
He asked me if I loved life and when I said no
He shook his head too and fro
Marshall (that was his name) looked at me and whispered “don’t you know?”

Puzzled we looked each other in the eye
And he whispered, “Ever wondered what it’s like to die?”
“Of course it has all that crap they talk about like walking on clouds
But then there’s the part of living under a dirt mound. I miss living life on earth.”
I looked at my grandfather, with a tear rolling down my cheek.

As the topics went by, my grandfather looked at his wrist and checked the time
Standing, he said he had to go; a ray of light fell and began to shine
Suddenly, the scenery changed into that of a cemetery, at the end stood the casket
My grandfather opened the lid, silently, in he slid
I screamed, “Grandpa don’t go!”

I jolted awake and tears slid down my face
Slowly, I got on my knees and prayed
“Goddess, though he didn’t believe in you,
Thank you for taking my grandfather to a better place.”
I cried until sunrise.

There was once a world where everyone and everything mattered;
Where happiness was as easy as waking up in the morning and being alive;
Where trust existed and was a tangible thing that one had in oneself and could give to other people,
Where flawlessness and beauty were real and simple and true.

And this world did exist,
It was solid and functional and realistic and perfect.
And it even had its place;
In my head.

But then one day, one day not so much unlike any other,
One day where the sun rose and the moon followed and life happened as usual,
This world, my world, my reality, shattered.
Was smashed like a rock through a glass window, collapsed like a mirror with a fist though the center,
Fell apart like a beautiful home into which a wrecking ball collided.

A wrecking ball, cold, hard,
Steel, solid, unbending,
Permanent, never going back, never controlled,
Always destroying, always hurting,
Imprecise. Flawed.

My heart the home,
The never going back to okay,
The flaws like small holes through everything ever known or loved,
Growing larger with every second, with every thought becoming and merging as one,
Until reality was a hole and everything I was and ever knew was falling, disappearing,
Becoming lost inside of it.

And I was at the center,
The forces of everything pushing me, pulling me, dragging me in their tides,
The people I’ve known, the choices I’ve made,
The pressure welling up like thunder ready to burst.
The weight of the world not on my shoulders,
Where it could be carried,
But inside me, tearing me apart.

And I was left there,
Alone,
Destroyed and defective and broken and torn.
And yet, somehow, still breathing, still functional.
Alive.
And with the strength that only comes forward when needed,
I took a deep breath and stood up;
Pulled together whatever fractured parts of me and my life remained,
And took a step forward.
Into the future, unknown and scary and marvelous,
To begin the construction of a new reality, again.

One way to be very happy is to be very rich
For then you can buy orchids by the quire and bacon by the flitch.
And yet at the same time People don't mind if you only tip them a dime,
Because it's very funny
But somehow if you're rich enough you can get away with spending
water like money
While if you're not rich you can spend in one evening your salary for
the year
And everybody will just stand around and jeer.
If you are rich you don't have to think twice about buying a judge or a
horse,
Or a lower instead of an upper, or a new suit, or a divorce,
And you never have to say When,
And you can sleep every morning until nine or ten,
All of which
Explains why I should like very, very much to be very, very rich.

but suppose it’s not a river
suppose instead you are laying
down bricks one by one
and with each new brick
all the old ones stack up
behind you to form a wall
so you can see all the bricks
that got you here -
the city you chose
and the love you didn’t -
but you can never return
you can only gaze at the choices -
the ones you’re glad you made
and the ones you wish you hadn’t -
and sometimes it was not even your own
hand but that of another and it seems
unfair that such blocks must remain
that their permanence is not yours
to claim but if you stare here too long
you will never recognize the clearing
behind you and all the places still left
to travel so where will you go from
                                                                 here?

As I lay on my bed with a cool fan blowing,
I can almost see darkness, neither hands are showing.
As I lay on my bed, I feel all of my worries flowing
from my head
to my feet
and beyond my cotton sheets.

Purple has always been my favorite color.
Mixed with Red, the color of passion,
And Blue, the color of dreams.

Ever since I was a child, I’ve loved purple.
“Dark purple” I would add, “With sparkles”
I had to specify, and toss in a cute giggle.

I was so young then. So innocent and naïve
I didn’t know that purple could symbolize something
Something like peoples’ rights.

That was back in the days when “gay” was just a word
Often appearing in Christmas songs
I always knew it to mean, “happy.”

So, when I heard that two men were gay
I was happy, because that must mean that
They’re happy.

When I got older, I learned that happy as those men may be
Others weren’t happy for them.
People weren’t happy that these men were gay.

I never saw anything wrong with it.
I was not gay, but I was supportive.
I didn’t care what other people liked.

Then the term, “bisexual” came up
And that blew my mind.
People could like men and women?

No! I was straight! Of course I was.
I didn’t like women, but I didn’t care if you did
I liked men. That was that.

And then there came the fatal attraction
Nearing me towards bisexuality,
And I embraced it.

All of the sudden, I liked men and women.
Without even realizing that it was in me,
I realized I liked them.

My mother was shocked, but supportive.
My father was the same.
My brother still doesn’t know.

My friends were all excited for me.
Some were confused.
Even a year after realizing it, some couldn’t tell.

Some thought I was joking. Some still do.
But nope, I was not.
I was bisexual.

I grew up Catholic, and I knew
That God loved all his children,
And every creature great and small.

And I believe this;
If God made me, wouldn’t he want me to be happy
With whoever I want?

If Heaven is that cold,
Then maybe I want to be cradled
In the warm fires of Hell.

If God is our father
Satan is our Uncle
Our gay uncle apparently.

Man. Woman. I just don’t care,
So long as they love me for me
And I love them for them,

I couldn’t be happier.
One day I will find someone, but I don’t know
If it will be a male or female.

But it will be someone.
And I will always wave the purple flag proud.
Free and happy.

My Father wears a
Cologne of dirt and sweat,
cowboy hat and boots,
a moderately large belt buckle,
and a salt and pepper mustache.

When he sees me
his face lights up
and he embraces me
engulfing me in his
familiar scent.

"My baby" he murmurs
as his hands smooth my
hair. "Te Quiero Mucho"
he says as his lips make
contact with my forehead.

"I love you too much",
he translates. It feels as if
my heart is going to break
and my eyes well up with tears
"I Love You, Too" I choke.

This is met with another
embrace, kisses on my
cheeks, his stubble scratching
rather than tickling my skin,
and the touch of his forehead to mine.

Once a month for
16 years, this is what
has always happened. But
now the ritual is ended and my
Father's Cologne is only a memory.