#acceptence

“you’re so pretty,” she said.

the paths you took to reach here, winding

overlapping on the paths of others–

rocky, bumping roads come before asphalt

“i am proud of you.” she continued,

as she strokes my mousey hair

years of tales weaved in through the length

tales of love, and of sacrifice,

and finally acceptance 

i look up, and she is looking back at me

HONEST AND REAL.

By Ross E F Lombardi

.

I can do some things

I can do allot

I have two hands, and a back and can move stuff around,

I can tidy, clean and run errands,

Being loved,

Is an ability I do not have.

.

I can draw,

I can paint,

I can see things that are not there,

I can see the truth behind the reality,

Being loved,

Is a talent I do not have.

.

I can write,

I can tell a tale,

I can pull a feeling - from a plastic keyboard.

I can use a line - to draw a tear from an eye,

Being loved,

Is a skill I do not have.

.

I have a physical presence - as a person.

I have value - as a human being.

I can do things - to help in a world - that others can’t

A life is worth - Still living - To aid others,

Yet,  Being loved

Is a value I can never have.

.

I can stand,

I can shout,

I can protest injustice and not back down,

I can do what is right - at any - and all costs,

However, Being loved,

Is a personal power I will never have.

.

I can never fly with a cape,

I am not invulnerable,

I can not cast spells with magic and sorcery.

There is no silly superhero fantasy here - in this mortal clay form.

And just like any other impossible fantasy thing,

For me – Being romantically loved can never be.

.

No more wasting money on dating sites.

I give up.

No posh aftershave, shaving, - or bothering with that crap.

I quit.

No more dates, dreaming and pointless energy wasted for me.

I have accepted how things are.

.

I am male.

I am flesh and bone and blood.

Am both many ‘a good and a bad thing.

I am able – talented – skilled -  flawed - both a dreamer and realistic.

I am many, Many, MANY things.

I Am Here!

But a woman’s true love…

…is simply…

…not who I am.

.

I have more than enough power enough to take it.

I can be “cared for”, “liked”, patronised, and “put up with”

I can be there, be “temporary”, - Missed for a while, then forgotten.

I can be a soft regret, - Spelt with small “r”.

No one will look at me – a  way - a lover should.

This is who I am.

.

Let us be real here!

Being loved - Is an ability I do not have.

Drop the trite comforting bullshit!

Being loved - Is a talent I do not have.

Let’s be honest.

Being loved - Is a skill I do not have.

I - accept the truth – like a grown-up adult!

Being loved - Is a value I can never have.

I - am strong enough to know,

That being loved - Is a personal power I will never have.

Just like any other impossible fantasy,

Being romantically loved can never be.

This is how it is…!

Being any woman’s true love…

…is simply…

…not who I am.

… “THAT” will never be me.

I grew up with stories of princesses and princes. Of love between the men and women of every love story in existence. I grew up with the idea of marrying and having children. I was told, even if not through direct words, that as a child, I should one day have children of my own. I didn't care much for love stories. They seemed so semented, so complete. But I grew older, and I cared less and less for the thought of a boyfriend, of this expected life. And one day, months after my 14th birthday, I realized I was gay. And I broke, not for the fact that I would have been not accepted by family, but the thought I would never be able to fulfill the expected notions of what I was supposed to do, supposed to be. That the notions of society grinded into me that any boy friendship meant that I wanted to marry him. 

My childhood best friend was my neighbor, Cooper. My sister and I were 3 years apart, while he sat smack dab in the middle, 1.5 years younger than me, 1.5 years older than my sister. I think my parents and his parents expected one of us to date him. He gave me a card made with lace for Valentine's Day in the winter of 2nd grade. It was a childhood running through the notions that we knew through life and television, with no room for change, that we were supposed to be romantically interested in each other, because that was how it was supposed to be.

 I hear stories from other gay people saying they felt pressured as kids to conform to this heterosexual lifestyle, that they did not want to, that they always knew about their inherent queerness, even from a young age. but, for me, heterosexuality was just inherent. Something learned, and I didn't question it, because what even is love? I don't even know if I've felt romantic love yet, just that I know I will never feel it for a man. I felt that heterosexuality was as normal as the feeling of breathing, and the ability to drink water.  It was not something that could be questioned.

I have been blessed With the greatest friends in the world It started with my brother and sister They were my first friends They taught me everything I knew We had each other & shared dreams We sang songs and played in the yard My big sis and bro – Gods first gift To this day – we love and respect each other In time Ray & I started a band We met musicians and rocked out! The talent of those men…