I recently found this poem I wrote two years ago buried in my Google Docs. It really captured the pain and turmoil I felt after coming out to my parents. I would like to share this because it is part of my journey and my development as a queer person.
Now that I am going on five years of being out to my parents and the world, my wounds have finally healed and I have a stronger relationship with my parents.
How are they different now? Well for one I stopped being angry at my parents for not “loving me enough” to get over the fact that I am gay. That’s some wack crap that someone in the movement told me, that I believed. I learned that they love me but that they are going through their own process, just like I did before I came out so I needed to chill.the.fuck.out.
And finally, that I am going to continue being my campy usual self and that if my parents didn’t want to join in on my gay parade, that’s fine because I have a group of amazing family and friends who are here to support me in the meantime. Granted, I had to work on my relationships with my family and friends… by practicing healthy relationships with them and by being true to myself and to them.
A Master Of Walls
I am an master at building walls.
I can build you all sorts of walls, really.
Thin-like walls made out of straw to keep out a strangers inquiries,
or cardboard-like walls to keep out acquaintances you don’t trust
I have made these walls so well that at times I am invisible, as if there was nothing behind them to see.
But those are easy to make, the ones that cost little and with not a lot of effort.
The walls I am talking about are the concrete, bomb resistant, air tight, water sealed walls.
The ones that you must use your entire body to create, the ones that by the end of the night your physically and mentally exhausted.
The ones that leave your waist aching, your hands callused and your legs aching
No… not the kind you find on the U.S. and Mexican border.
I am talking about The Berlin Wall type wall,
The ones that have a land mines separating them from those unwanted.
I have used these walls on the most dangerous and harmful people I know.
They have been expelled from the land called my heart.
I kicked them out two years ago.
It was after I told them I was a Lesbian and that I had never been happier.
A “disgrace,” an “embarrassment,” and a “whore” is what they called me.
They did not hit me, nor did they even touch me.
But the look on their face, had stung more than any slap my father could have given me.
Now whenever anyone with the last name of “Guerrero” or “Medina” comes to my doors,
I scrutinize them keenly, I question their motives
“Why are you here?”
“How long do you plan to stay?”
“Who else did you come with?”
And even then, once they’re in, I keep mental tabs on all of them. Where they are and where they stand on in every situation
Don’t hide….my tia says
Pride, my tia says is what you will use to defeat those who want to destroy you and rebuild you
Because the higher you build your walls, the more they are reaffirmed that being gay is worthy of separation and segregation
But how? I asked
My identity is based off of the collective that was shaped by my family
And my mother says that my identity conflicts with the morality of our collective and that worse yet, I am bringing it down.
Pride…I try it but I don’t feel it.
My heart is tired of being beaten
“Pinche maricon!” my father says with pride
“Y Que?” I retort