Sometimes I forget how sharp the rage
Of a newly-minted queer child
Cuts.
I am not the parent you're mad at.
My hopes and dreams for my babies are wildly
Different
Than what your parents put on you
And I'm sorry that they made you feel
That rejection is the same as grief
My grief is the same
When my baby got his first tooth
And toddled two steps
And my teenager told me "Not she. They."
The end of an era.
Change is grief.
I'm sorry that grief was used as
Hate
To make you feel shame.
You deserve better,
Halcyon.
YOU ARE READING
Big Eyes
PoetryPoems from my path across the United States as I attempt to heal and find my family. ***my mother and I have reconciled. We're good, you shouldn't worry.
