You have my word

One word can change your life.

Tag: light

Queer moon, we are guided by your tides


The moon is definitely gay. Nothing can sparkle that much and be straight. I mean, if you want to get technical with me, here you go: the moon is a circle so technically it can’t be straight. Anyway.

The moon is definitely queer. Totally in love with the sun and her rays but screws around with the stars in the dark. They don’t mind that he’s a little naughty – that she’s a little naughty – that they’re a little naughty.

The moon would definitely call itself fluid, spreading itself across the day and night sky. Non-binary bright. Lesbian lunar. Bisexual bright. It’s no wonder we’re so affected by the tides. The moon is definitely gay. Nothing can sparkle that much and be straight.

Nothing can sparkle that much despite thousands upon thousand trying to put it out. Nothing can sparkle that much without having been set on fire. Nothing can sparkle that much against the shadows that try and cut it down to size.

Too many shadows have taken too many of your shapes, squashing your fabulous, your fierce, your fight. You, forced to be half-moon – half you – semi-circle so sickle the length of years in your arms. You will outlive centuries of being trapped here.

When they stare at you and point from afar, don’t you dare blink. Don’t you dare look away. Don’t shuffle your feet, gay goddess. Don’t dim your man in the moon face. Look on. Light up. Love. Sparkle. They can learn a thing from you.


There are stars under your tongue


You are a universe of stories – constellations of metaphors. The glory of your ever-expanding mess; the inevitable collide with a story of mine takes my breath away. Then I remember, there’s no air in space.

Your mind is an orbit of psalms and prayers all synced in a mantra so loud I can hear it from here. What are you thinking? What are you chanting with stars under your tongue? The light from your sun is altogether too beautiful to only give light to one. So…

Share a little. Share your story and in doing so share your light. Give me a little light, love. And I will burn in you – this moment – till I catch on fire too. Till I am ablaze. Till I forge my own universe of stories from the flames. I will strike iron hot meteor and double edged sharp so I can cut my name into the dust of Mars.

It doesn’t matter who wrote their name here last…

Perhaps the dust here is like a prison cell or a prison yard – you write your name on the walls to prove you were there and got out… whether dead or alive. The name on the wall is not a claim of space or fame, it’s a story in its own way – a galaxy behind bars.

They will see the stars from their windows. Maybe yours, maybe mind. They will pray to us, not their gods. They will ask for light. Just a little light, love. They have already carved out their names and they’ve stored stories in the soles of their shoes.

But that has never been enough; they want the universe too.

Use your words, love, use your words


When I use my words I take back the power that I have given the silence. It’s not easy; it’s a wrestle to draw the words out of the depths. It’s painful trying to name the thing I least want to name. She reminds me gently: “Use your words, love, use your words.”

They don’t pour out as I would expect them to. I am no stranger to words and it frightens me that I don’t know which ones to use or what order to put them in. So the wrestle continues and I find myself in this vortex of stifling what really needs to be said. Until… I open my mouth and for the seconds stretch aeons before I utter the first sound. I say “sound” because the groan that escapes can’t be attributed as a full word just yet. Language is a series of sounds and it comforts me to think that if I make enough sounds I might eventually be able to make a word. “I wish it didn’t have to be this hard.”

I feel the mountains shake with these softly uttered words and this light shell heart and these shaking hands and this strained voice. I don’t offer much in the nine words that make it out, but I offer what I have. It’s not enough, but at least it’s something. My words now matter.

I have encroached a little bit into silent enemy territory; I have reclaimed some of what was taken from me. If I refuse to use my words, I refuse to own who I am – I refuse to acknowledge where I picked up what I now carry. When I speak, I am being true to who I am; I am giving myself a chance to make better – make right within myself.

In the words of Shane Koyczan, “Make us comprehend the urgency of your crisis. Silence left to its own devices, breed’s silence. So speak and be heard. One word after the next, express yourself and put your life in the context – if you find that no one is listening, be loud. Make noise. Stand in poise and be open.

That is the power that I am taking back from the silence.

When you tell your story, tell the truth


When you tell your story, make sure to tell the truth. It sounds like an obvious thing, but it’s so easy to elevate or negate parts that don’t sound good enough or sound too good to be true. Tell it how it is, and not how you want people to hear it.

Why the preamble? This coming Sunday is International Coming Out Day, and whether you support it or not, it is what it is. That is part of my story – not elevated or negated.

What’s the big deal? Coming out is about telling the ultimate truth – about yourself and about your world… about myself and about my world.

In celebration of telling the truth, here is my coming out story in brevity but, nevertheless, in full:

I didn’t come out. Well, not officially. The process (because it is a process) of coming out is really just a process of telling the truth – of telling a story. For some, it’s a truth and a story that they have come to accept and love for the first time. For some, it’s a truth and a story that they acknowledge and haven’t yet accepted. That is also OK. What’s important is that it is the truth.

So how did I tell the truth? Someone else tried to do it for me. They told a biased version of my story which blew up like dropping a full bottle of red wine. I’m not saying that some people didn’t know; if you have even two stones knocking between your ears, it’s fairly obvious to see that I’m not a cookie-cut-out girl. Yet, as much as it broke me to be exposed in that way, it also provided a new kind of freedom.

Sometimes pain is the most honest truth.

Hear me: I’m not condoning how out of place that person was, and I’m certainly not thanking them for shoving me out, but I will acknowledge the space that I stepped into. That’s the thing about being in the light.

“Coming out of the closet” is the expression that’s often used and although I don’t completely understand its origin, I do understand the feeling. If you’ve ever stepped into a closet and closed the door or been trapped in a pantry or anything similar, you will know the stifling, desperate, claustrophobic feeling that comes with the confines and you will also know the feeling of relief that washes over you when the door opens again.

It’s no wonder children are afraid of monsters in the closet. Some monsters don’t have teeth, but they do eat at your truth and instil fear in the dark.

Almost two years later and I’m telling the story here, as it is, for the first time. As I said, coming out is a process. It hasn’t come without its breakdowns and wreckage, but it also hasn’t come without its joy and contentment. That is my truth and my story.

So don’t see Sunday as International Coming Out Day… see it as a day for telling the truth, a day for telling your story, no matter what that story is. If it happens to be about coming out, celebrate that as your truth and commit to the process of always telling your truth. Others may not like it, they may not accept it, but it is yours. Be true.