You pushed me from my home,
The moment you mentioned sanctity,
That I‘d be dirtying something,
If I touched it,
I’d be ruining it for everyone else,
If I took part,
But what is sanctity anyway?
Am I capable of being god’s child?
Must I strip back layers of my love first?
But can I love god,
If I cannot love myself?
Can I love myself,
If I am not myself?
I can’t help but love.
And I’d quite like to get married,
And maybe to have my first dance to Elvis,
And to throw the bouquet,
And to hear the words:
“You may now kiss!”
Does that sound unclean to you?
I want to honeymoon, somewhere in Italy,
I want us to cook dinner for one another.
Is that impure?
I want to have and to hold in sickness and in health till death do us part.
Is that ******* *****?
Does it make you sick?
The moment this country said no,
You are not love,
You want,
To ****,
Love.
Even when other people were saying,
We understand you, you are good, you are clean,
You are love.
This stopped being my home,
You tore the ground from under me,
in the name of “sanctity”,
I’d love to stop being angry about it,
I would love to,
But my policy has not changed my policy has not changed my policy has not changed,
My policy will not change,
And that is all you and I will ever have in common.
I live in Northern Ireland where in 2019 gay marriage is still not legal. A prominent lgbt journalist and activist, Lyra McKee, was shot a few weeks ago. Northern Irish politician Arlene Foster in response to this said her party’s policy on gay marriage had not changed. This poem is my response to that statement.