Secrets

 Can you keep a secret?

How often are secrets left untold?

How many have traveled to graves with their keepers?

Are secrets worth keeping?

What is the harm?

Leaving them to fester and burn to be released?

Why would you keep it?

Who could you tell?

Should they be left to be forgotten?

How many secrets are whispered into the night, waiting to be told?

Would you keep a secret?

If told by a stranger?

What if I told a secret?

Would you return the favor?

Is that not keeping a secret?

Promise not to tell?

Take it to your grave?

Never to tell the tale?

Will you keep a secret?

In the back of your mind?

At the bottom of your heart?

I think I'll keep the secret, as you seem uncertain,

Never answering, no matter the wait.

The void knows the secret, never saying a word,

I'll take the secret, and pray that the void keeps it,

I won't tell a soul, as that is the deal.

I can keep the secret, forever silent.

Taking and keeping to the grave, I will.

Could you the secret? I can.

Once Upon a Time

 There was a Kingdom.

It was a Kingdom of vast riches and bountiful harvests. The King and Queen were loved by all. They were blessed with a fine Son who would one day take over as King and would carry on the legacy of the Kingdom.

But this family had a secret. Before the Son was born there was another.

A Daughter was born to the couple and was a bit peculiar. But this daughter did not act as a daughter should. The Daughter was strong willed and refused to act as a Lady of high standing should. In an effort to reign in this unruly behavior, the Daughter was locked away into an abandoned tower located in rocky outcroppings of a nearby mountain range, in hopes that isolation and the right opportunity would arise to have a Prince or Knight rescue the Damsel, as was tradition. Given time, a dragon was spotted taking up residence at the tower, to guard the Prize inside. It would be the Perfect Test to when the Daughter's hand.

This is Their Story.

On a fine morning when the air was crisp and the mists covered the views of the valleys, Prince Galen of a neighboring Kingdom has decided that he would try his hand at winning the prize of defeating the dragon and recovering the lost Daughter. Hoping to prevail in this arduous task, as many had tried only to either come back empty handed, or not at all.

Galen was trained in both physical and psychological warfare and was feared and admired for his cunning and skills. He believed himself a worthy opponent to a creature known for tormenting the countryside and winning the heart of a fair maiden.

He left the neighboring town without his royal guards to aid him. He made the trek to the tower alone, as it was customary to face these types of challenges head-on and without escort. 

He traveled through the surrounding landscape, searching for the tower that was said to be located down in a cavernous ravine. It was said that an ancient sorcerer had once called the tower home, having carved the ravine and tower out of the mountain themselves.

Through the winding trail he traveled, making certain to carefully and quietly make his way through the path as to not arouse the dragon's wrath before the time came.

He traveled for ages, to the point at which darkness had overcome the cavern, and the only light available were from the glittering stones that were scattered throughout the walls of the caverns.

Finally! He could see just around the bend a shimmer of firelight dancing along the walls, intermingling and enhancing the light already there.

Just around the corner, there was the Tower!

And before it, The Dragon! But as luck would have it, it is asleep!

Taking care and stock of his surroundings, it would appear that the only thing guarding the chamber was the Dragon. And what a dragon. Even lying prone, the Dragon had to be at least 18 meters in length and that is not taking into account the wingspan. The deepest black in color as if the light itself was being drawn and absorbed into the darkness. Thick spikes and armored scales run along the back of the creature, making it a force to be reckoned with. 

Trying to take advantage of the luck of coming at a time of weakness, Galen decides that taking out the creature as it sleeps would be the best course of action, no need to make the job harder than it needs to be.

He quietly makes his way towards the Dragon, unsheathing his sword as he crosses the distance. He decides the best action would be go for the eyes, as the soft tissues would give little resistance to the brain, quickly dispatching most creatures. As he readies his weapon, all of the sudden pressure wave slams into his side, pushing him away from the Dragon and into the wall of the Tower.

"THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" A voice sounds from a tower balcony, midway up the tower.

On it, lounging in a rocking chair, a person sits having been reading a book with a cup of what looks to be tea. This person has shortly cropped dark hair, smooth skin, and is wearing trousers of a dark color and loose fitting robe.

They deftly swing themselves over the balcony slowly drift downward, as if carried gently on the nights breeze, landing directly before Galen. The Dragon, meanwhile, has been awoken and seems alarmed to be met with a sword seeming tossed onto their snout.

"What?" Galen wheezes, as the breath seems to have been completely knocked out of him and the pressure leaves no room to gather more.

"I Said, The Fuck Do You Think You Are Doing?" The stranger snarls in the face of Galen, or at least tries to, as they appear to only come to Galen's chin.

"I was trying to recue the princess that was trapped in this towered by slaying the dragon!" Galen rasps, unsure of what to think of this person and wondering where the night went wrong.

"Why the Fuck would you think that? Why would that even be a thing? Do you often randomly go about sneaking onto people's properties to slay the inhabitants, to kidnap people? Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound? Why do people keep coming here? There is nothing here to get!" By now, the person has gone on a bit of rant, expressing rage by throwing out what appear to be pure blasts of energy from their hands in a wide sweep of the surrounding area. The Dragon seems to be amused by the proceedings and is fixated on the happenings between the two people.

"Where's the Princess? There was supposed to be a princess locked away in the tower guarded by this dragon!" Galen tried, trying in vain to make sense of the proceedings of the evening.

"The Princess? The fuck do you mean? Princess? I stopped being a princess the instant my family decided to try to discard me in this Tower. That's besides the point, Why would you think killing this dragon would 'rescue' anyone?" 

There is no way. This person cannot be the lost Princess. Princesses were dainty things that wore frilly gowns and done up hair. Before him, he could clearly see this person now. Missing the curves of a maiden, this person obviously had combat training and held themselves with a stature of power, unlike the shy giggling court Ladies that could be found at social gatherings. Granted, a princess locked in a tower might be missing the softer edges granted by society, but this person did not even look like a women, let alone a Lady.

"I was sent to slay the Dragon and win the Princesses hand in Marriage, as is customary in these types of proceedings. Let me go, and tell me what you have done with the Princess!" Galen thrashed against the invisible for pinning him to the tower.

"Yeah, no, that ain't happening. You see, you can't just waltz in here thinking you own the place, try and kill my friend and say it's to essentially own me through marriage. For one, fuck that, I ain't leaving, this place is quiet and my home. For two, that dragon? Yeah, we're buddies, his name is Derek. You don't get to try and kill Derek and get away scratch free. Thirdly, the reason why my family sealed me away in this tower was the fact that I ain't a princess, never have been, never will be. I have no interest in political affairs, bearing children is not in my future, and people can go die in a ditch. The fuck would I want to leave for? This tower was made by an ancient sorcerer, they didn't even bother to clear the tower before leaving me here. Do you know how much knowledge and research is stored here? This," the 'princess' wafts her hand in the general direction of Galen's bindings, "is but a fraction of what I've been able to figure out. Why would I give that up for," again, there is a pause and a look of disgust washes over their face, "you?"

For once in his life, Galen is rendered speechless, and a little offended. 

"What do you mean, why wouldn't you want to leave this desolate tower? Do you not want to regain what is lost to you, to become apart of society again?" Galen asked, baffled as to why this night was unfolding the way it was.

"No," they said, "I do not. So on the grounds of trespassing, attempted assault/murder, and attempted kidnapping, I am not inclined to let you leave, so I guess it's dinner time!" With that the force holding Galen lifts him in the air, tossed into the sky directly above the now awaiting Derek, who unleashes a torrent of flames that consume the Prince and quickly put an end to his life.

"Fucker didn't even bother tasting good," rumbled Derek, having inhaled the charred remains of the corpse.

"They can't all be winners," the sorcerer's disciple quipped, "next time I might just let them get in that lucky shot, the fuck did you let him get that close?"

"Long day, pleasant dreams," Derek yawned, " 'sides, I have you looking out for me!"

"Yeah, yeah," they said waving Derek off, "one of these days I might not be paying that close attention. We got to look after each other, that's the deal remember?"

"Yeah, you get the tower and the unsocial nature of this place, while I get a place to hoard my knowledge and share it."  

THE END

 

Alone and Concussed in Utah

Have you ever soared?

            Have you ever crashed?

I used to love hockey more than anything but now

I look at the ice and I     fear     it

It glares back at me, the purest white 

It dares me,     calls for me...

And it says

Have you ever ...

                Felt lost?

    Felt like you were in the wrong place

                    Wrong place, wrong time

                        Wrong place, wrong time

                            Wrong place, wrong *

Gone- wait, back in

Have you ever woken up?

I remember the gurney

The wheels shrieked as I rolled

I rolled and I was rolled...

  I went somewhere?

What?

Where am I?

They wanted to photograph my figure

    Make sure I was still in good operating condition

Make sure I was still able to do my purpose

            -- Did they care how bright the lights were? --

Did they ever care about

how bright the lights were?

No bleeding

No cracks, no repairs needed

Slipped out of the brace to go greet my...

        Who was there for me?

            Was anyone even there for     me? 

no.

Alone and Concussed in Utah

-*-

(I want to end with that most of this poem was actually written by me after I got my spinal injury/concussion at a hockey game, so if it seems disconnected it's because that's what concussions do to your brain :D)

The Two-Headed Mother

 

The Two-Headed Mother

Depicts a crossover between some of my personal queer staples of art: the poem The Calf by Sam Walter, 

and the album Atom Heart Mother by Pink Floyd. A drawing (done by me)

 

I love the poem the calf, it had me in a chokehold the first time I read it and I knew that it was going to change my life forever. It made me look at things softer, helped me learn how to stop and smell the roses, and allowed me to appreciate life in all its short brilliance. I never looked at the stars quite the same after that, always felt an extra warmth in my heart (I was never really alone). Pink Floyd lulled me to sleep even on my darkest nights when those comforting stars hid away from my ghastly state. I never knew peace until I experienced them together on a humid summer evening, staring up at the Milky Way in all its glory as Atom Heart Mother poured through the tiny speakers of my earbuds.

It's the closest I'll ever get to touching a star.

I Know That Look, Mom

I know that look, Mom

Every day getting out of bed gets hard and harder

My joints are wearing out, and my hair is growing thinner

The bags beneath my eyes grow deeper until I'm nothing

But skeleton

I know that look, Mom

The food just doesn't taste like it used to 

Please just understand that there is something

So, So wrong with my body but I have no idea how to 

Slow it

I know that look, Mom

You claim you want my weight loss tips yet

You wouldn't want that burden

My bones creak, and my palms shake, why can't I just

Fake it

I know that look, Mom

You're worried but it's wordless you can't

Articulate the emotion of losing your child

Slowly I wither but you must 

Stay here

I know that look, Mom

Each cough a death sentence, each wheeze maybe

my last.

Fear is Not My Killer

-*-

Fear is not my killer

For they can try to batter my frame with

Sticks alight with golden flame

But they cannot 

Touch me here

I am beyond comprehension

No longer a product of a war

That I never had any part in

Other than a victim 

Of association

So try, and fail

I'm not ever going back

At least never without a fight

Normal isn't meant

For me

Pride

 My first experience with anything queer was that of misinformation.

I was led to believe that people who acted different were not to be associated with and were to be cast aside.

I took a piece of myself and stored it in lockbox and thought I lost the key.

I was one of these people that were to be cast aside.

Knowing this, I saw a path before me that could lead to two possible outcomes.

On the one hand, I could continue with my path chosen for me, discard that piece of myself, to go into a spiral of denial and loathing that would end in a dark place.

On the other, seek out help for I perceived as a broken part of myself that needed to be fixed.

I am still on my journey to fully accept myself as I am.

I have chosen to take pride in myself, as the world has taught me no one else will.

They say Pride is a Deadly Sin, but to use it to better one self, and to make it so that there is a next morning, I think of it as a Virtue.

Life becomes worth living when there is worth to be had.

Life

 Life is an endless array of noise and colors.

We grow and wither and learn that the world is less tolerant of bullshit and is an endless sea of disappointment.

We gather and observe and act accordingly to be accepted to the society built on the weary and deprived.

We judge and discard and wait for a time to act, all while worrying that it will never be enough.

We beg and weep and scream when we are just short of what is required, hoping that the next time will be different.

But we also celebrate that life is worth living.

For the smell of rain, of freshly cut grass, and warm chocolate.

For the sound of the wind in the woods, of laughter in the air, of community.

For the touch of the warm sun, of a first kiss, of warm embrace.

For the view of completely untouched snow in the early morning, of a sea of flowers after rainfall, of family waiting for a trip home.

Life is an array of what we make of it.

Judgement

 

It is said that when we die, we are judged.

But is to say what we are judged on?

Whether we are productive members of society?

That we uplift our fellow humans, by courting unseen forces with doctrines written by humans long ago.

Human decency is often put to the wayside in the minds of those worshiping the unseen and the unheard.

The soul is tainted by the mere existence of a physical body, let alone the actions taken by that body.

Are we sinful for existing?

Why would a god, who proclaims that we are of his image make it so the actions put forth are those that are disagreeable to them?

Are we to be judged by the people who have been affected by us?

Those that we judge and persecute in our day-to-day lives, those that we look to make an example of how to or how to not do things?

Or is there acceptance for existing, as we fought to live and celebrate the life given for the gift it is?

Do we treat this mortal body as a vessel, awaiting this judgement as all fall in the end?

Are we to ignore the physiology that wires us to be the way we are, just because a book tells us it is wrong?

What of us who view it as a canvas to celebrate and decorate as we would a home?

Are we to be judged for the marks we bear for the life we live?

What of those of us that prolong that life from the knowledge given by research in how the world works?

To those that would have died from ailments such as the common cold or a fever?

Is that going against this plan of judgement?

How are we to know the rules of this judgement, if it was decided outside of these unseen forces?

By the mortals who cling to their lives, who either live fully or cower in the darkness, hoping for a light to guide them?

If they find a light, would it be the same light for all?

Or is it inner peace, brought about by accepting that this life is merely a steppingstone for the next?

A continuation of consciousness, until the end of time?

Or is there no end judgement, and the judgement is merely a ruse to keep the masses in line?

 All about a Ball

You can talk the talk, but can you walk the walk and take home the trophy?

Who will be the queen tonight?

Strut your stuff, show off who you are.

What category will you compete in?

Will you read the room or throw some shade?

Walk the runway pose and turn.

Judges score each performer that walks.

Whose house will come out on top?

Who’s got the best death drop?

Houses are led by mothers and fathers who provide guidance and support for their house “children.”

Who will gain the rank of a legend?

Balls are fun where the queer gather, gender expression it doesn’t matter.

Come one come all to Paris is Burning Ball.

(Queer) Gamer (Girl)

By: Leslie LeClair

I want to play my own game.

Not being asked for my number,

For proof of identity after asking me how many games I’ve played.

I don’t have to prove my skills to you,

I shouldn’t have to whip out my score to compare. I belong.

I want to play my own way.

Be a woman with muscles as big as her tits,

No playing around here.

She’s a fighter, give her some stubble,

I’ll give you something coarse to kiss. Lips or fist?

I want to play my own time.

Not racing to completion…

I’m happy to spend my time in the middle.

Maybe I’ll start again,

I’m in it for my own reasons. This is my game.