It used to be fun, loving on the sly.
An exciting time, but I don’t know why.
What was so thrilling about it all then?
Nothing to be proud of. Not very zen.
Sneaking and giggling like a fool
Only proves to me now I was a tool.
But for those of me raised in that time
Being gay and ***** was a big crime.

Even now, many say they don’t mind it
But if I have to be gay, I must be quiet.
Don’t talk about my time with a guy.
If I have to do that, do it on the sly.
They invent unclever euphemisms
And further deepen the ****** schism
That says we are good and you’re not
At least according to the family I’ve got.

They’ll just wink and dig with an elbow
And that’s they way they want it to go.
Of course, even better, just don’t say
That you I am one of those, you know, gay?
We’ll all know stuff, we don’t want to know.
We won’t discuss your twisted shame, oh no.
We'll just gossip with each other about it
And none of us in any way will ever doubt it.

After all, the bible I didn’t read condemns it
So, even though more of society permits it
It really isn’t right, they condemn me to hell.
Oh, I have heard this lame tale that they tell.
Of course, I read that book and they’re wrong.
They changed the story as time went along.
But they’d know all that if they took a look
And actually read their religion’s book.

So, decades ago, I changed my thoughts
And now use on them what they have taught.
I nudge and wink and agree not to discuss
The crap they do and their errors about us.
I don’t ask them with who they are cheating
Or other Christian teaching they are defeating
By paying attention to the mote in my eye
By my love for a perfectly respectable guy.

I still love you, you know?
I still wish I can see you and just be in your presence; it comforts me
And although it seems like there is and will always be a million reasons why we shouldn't be together- I look at you and I can't think of anything else but the intensity within your eyes;
Sometimes I wish we met under different circumstances. Like in a store or by mutual friends because maybe things would be better, I wouldn't have held back so much feelings and would've gave you my mind, body and soul.
I know, I know I still can.
But I'm afraid of all the million different reasons we shouldn't be together; I wish you were here.
'Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same'

I don't ride a Harley. Do you?
I have no need for ingots or ketchups. Have you?
I'm atheist. Are you a believer?
I'm in the body. Are you marginalized?
I respect LGBTQ. Are you in and out of your body?
I have a NEXUS. Do you have a country?
Good thing the air and sunshine have no borders.
It's not about me.
It's about us.

All those fights and bad qualities about you start to fade
But I still have the screenshots of how many times you bade
My existence in your life, that we'd give it once more try
That you're sorry and your sorry and you hope I'm doing fine
And then change your mind
As you harass and beg
But those times didn't happen
Don't speak ill of the dead

Now all our old friends are texting and calling
Sympathy overwhelming as my heart is falling
Down to my stomach to boil in acid
"have you heard"
"Are you ok"
"have you heard"
"Are you ok"
And I say I'm sorry
I don't know how to feel
I'm not even sure if any of this is real

I didn't know him any longer
And how much he went through change
Living in his family's prejudice cage
He ran into traffic in a drunken rage

Now I look at my past
And the messages we exchanged
How he begged for me back
And said his life wouldn't be the same
That he dreams of me every night
And how he'll never find someone like me
I remember our fights and how this all came to be

I remember how his family would look at me
With love and with pity
How I was so handsome, it was a shame I was gay,
How I was a bad influence on their son and how I "made him this way."
I remember sitting every holiday alone
while he went to family dinners
the weight of them explaining my relation to the family was too much to bare
I won't be at the funeral either
I'm assuming that's only fair.
They never wanted me there.

One day I'll visit your grave
And ask the tombstones "why?"
And get a response similar to yours
Although a little more dry
I can't cry

Maybe he is watching me,
I think about that a lot
In my new life
It's been 5 years on the dot.
He still wasn't over me
"I don't think he ever will be."
said his Nana under the old oak tree.

Israel was fallen
By a GMC Sierra
As I watch from afar
This ending of an era

Sun
Rains down.
On skin: black, white, yellow, and brown.
And all skins burn
Under the natural UV light.

Skin
Is something that is not so profound.
It exists in triangular lines of cells that are bound.
Mending and bending with tears and scars,
Over the muscles, tissues, and blood vessels alike.

Skin
Is something that is on the surface; mind you.
They tell you from the start that it’s the inside that counts,
With glitters and flowers and sticker stars,
That you are perfect no matter who you are.

Skin
Is the first thing pre-schoolers recognized.
One boy bluntly points out that this girl is
Dark and *****, different from the rest.
I grab the finger away from her eyes.

Skin
Is the first thing that teenagers find to name.
They call you ******, chinks, and a Terrorist.
They dress as you for Halloween in “good” jeers,
Never to understand the hurt behind and within.

Skin
Is the first thing that adults ask about.
They assume you are Chinese, Japanese, Aboriginal, Afri-
Firmly I interrupt to explain about ethnicity and nationality,
But they don’t care about who you are.

Skin
Is the first thing couples try to match.
Because people stare when black and white are holding hands.
Even I am guilty of such and curiously wish to ask,
How did they meet, fall in love and come about?

Skin
Is the first gossip in town.
It fills the news outlet with riots and protests,
With each claiming their right but backlash after backlash,
Just washes down the black mirror to static white.

Skin
Is the first thing I find myself noticing now.
In a fantastical resort in front of Dominican beach.
White privilege enjoys an all-around buffet while
Dark-toned staff work around the clock.

Knee deep in the surface skin.
People bury themselves in it and live.
But even insects and animals shed their skin.
So, why so much emphasis on the
Skin.

I ain’t saying that being White makes you racist or rich.
I ain’t saying that being a coloured minority makes you a victim.
It’s just something I have noticed;
A problem so thin but keen in everyday
Life.

Wishing
For equity, not equality
The needs exist. After all,  
Bleach skin with white sunscreen
Is always guaranteed.

color isn't just the sky, i know that.
the rain, the snow, and all the blues
along with the different hues that
make me
(and you)

color isn't just all niceness, although
there's many a nice (and a vice) that
throws its body behind
its color, like (for instance) the deep dark red of
lust, or blood

color isn't just a thing that's there and with
its cosmic strength and chroma-power,
just sits upon your face as if saying
"i'm not actually here."

but,
then what? was it before
(i won't lie) my friends said that among
the many guys i've liked?
you are? a bit, uh,
kind of different?
different kind of...? it was a bit
awkward, they said
you need your own
spectrum? what?
they said,
they said,
they said...

you're
brown.

and hah...
of course you're brown, of course-- you're not
just brown, you're
very brown and definitely positively
brown and yes, you're
one of them, and of course! that matters, yes,
it matters that
you're one of
them.

(brown) (brown?) (brown.)

and of course i'm not brown, i'm just
very not brown, i'm very unlike you and
very yellow, definitely positively
yellow and you know what? of course
that matters. that i'm not one of
you and
rather, one of
them.

it's almost funny? how the sky
has always been very blue, the clouds
have always been definitely white, the grass
has always been positively green and yet
you? and you? you've definitely, positively
always been...

no,
you haven't.
always
been
brown.

but they said (i won't lie) to
open
my
eyes, and so
you know what?

i did.

I saw him wince,
I saw no smile,
I saw the hurt
In his eyes.
I heard the lines
Of jokes misspoken
In the guise of humor;
And thriving like malignant tumors.
Finger pointing at shortcomings,
Of race, religion, creed,
Or a Newfie, Pole, a Jew;
A priest, rabbi or preacher,
A doctor, lawyer, teacher;
Gay or straight, make no mistake,
They're fodder when one utters
A slight not misconstrued.
We should be adamant,
We should make a fuss.
If we fail;
If we're unjust;
The joke reflects on us.
.