I started thinking that I didn’t have anything to say.
Or at least that no one needed to hear what I had to say.
I heard the whispers of old ghosts telling me that my story isn’t relevant.
So, I was quiet. I worked. I listened. I planted flowers and a cherry tomato plant and rescued a jalapeño seedling that the cat had mostly eaten except for the stalk.
I read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. I read the the new Ivan Coyote book and lots of poetry, especially poems penned by young Black men.
We’re flying a Philly pride flag for pride this year. It’s the first time that we’ve flown a big rainbow flag at our house. Every time I see those bright colors rippling against the blue of the sky, I swell up a little inside.
I’ve remembered that those of us who wear the label “other” have a duty to speak our truth.
I don’t have to shout
But I have to say
I’m still here
And this is how it is for me
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