Even in the stillness
there’s a stirring…
internal noise…
that cannot be ignored,
and I’m not sure
that it should be.
I think I am allowed
to cry when I listen
to my trans friend talk about how
people in power want to
erase him from history,
and how these powerful people
are working hard to make that happen.
I think I am allowed
to be angry
when people are killed,
literally,
they are dying,
for existing.
Just for existing.
I’ve never been worried
that I will be killed for existing.
I think I am allowed to say
that I’ve never heard of anything
so awful.
Because something I know –
I know that people
are allowed to exist,
destined to exist,
meant to be here
and holding every right…
every right to breathe
and worship and work
and run and pray and
talk and love.
I know that people are allowed;
I know that they have the right to be allowed.
And I see,
I know how they are
not allowed.
Killed for existing.
Erased from history.
Invalidated for their differences
and isolated for their strengths –
that is,
their willingness,
their driving self, their within-ness
that expresses the colorful love
that has real substance.
What is love if it is
limited,
grey,
one-dimensional?
And what is love
if it allows a world
that kills people
just for existing?
august laperche 