Not Ready

Analyzing myself, a poem in three parts.

1. 

Why am I still not ready?

How hard can it be to get a cup of coffee

  And sit down at a table with four or five people

  I’ve never met before,

  Who happen to be LGBTQ or allies?

They’re just people,

  Potential friends or acquaintances,

No need to tell my life story

No need to delve into the complexities of

  Who I might be

  What I might be

  Why I’m afraid

   To talk about it

   To do anything

   To go beyond the baby steps of writing.

  Why I’m paralyzed

     In limbo

     Hypocritical

     Hypercritical

  Why I analyze and thing and write

     But don’t make a decision

     Don’t acknowledge

     Don’t accept myself publicly.

2. 

All this talk about

 acceptance,

  understanding,

   love, 

Scares me.

In my experience,

  People aren’t that accepting

   People don’t understand you the way you want them to

    Love comes in many forms,

     Some of which seem to contradict

     What love should be.

3. 

Back to me.

I am a coward.

I am unsure.

I have flaws

I have talents

I have good points.

I am vulnerable. 

I am human. 

I have no one I trust to talk to about my innermost feelings

  my wants and desires,

    or lack thereof.

  my fears,

    getting close to someone romantically and why it scares me,

    sexuality and why it unnerves me.

So I write

to get things out of my head

and onto a screen 

where I can read my thoughts

and try to make sense

of who i am, 

Try to figure out

what to do.

I write.

and don’t share the potent things

that go deep

and expose nerves.

I write in phrases.

I have trouble with sentences.

they don't feel right

when it comes to no holds barred 

examination of my guts.

Sentences seem too clinical.

Phrases seem better suited to conveying the emotions

that surface.

 

Maybe some day I’ll figure it out

 [do we ever figure everything out?]

Maybe some day I’ll speak out

 [will I say everything or just drop hints?]

Maybe some day I’ll act out

 [go beyond baby steps and stride forward.]

Maybe

Some

Day

I’ll

Be

Free.

 

Come on, come on out

 Unedited. I need to come back to this one. It took a lot of energy for me to put these thoughts all in one place. I'll come back to it later. And I'm sure there will be additional pieces to the story.

Come on, come on out (olly, olly, in come free)

Welcome to my 65+ coming out story,

Essay in verse form.

I’ve been telling it in bits and pieces

In coded language

Between the lines

For several years.

Mostly since I was around 60,

Maybe earlier.

I wasn’t sure about going public with my story

I mean, i’m not famous

I’m not glamorous

I’m not a “published writer”.

I’m just a 66 year old woman

Trying to come to terms

With who she is.

Trying to figure out how she wants to live her life 

going forward.

By looking at how she lived her life

Until now.

The easy way

Except it wasn’t easy

Over time she wondered

Why she chose the easy way

Even though she knew it wasn’t

the right way.

Even though she knew it wasn’t 

her truth.

It’s never too late

To consider the consequences 

It’s never too late

to look deeply

Into your heart and mind

To look at the signals

The signs

The choices you made

The turns your life took

And finally decide

To be yourself

The self that was always there

But you tried to push down

To fit in

You tried to push down

Because of pressure to be

What people needed you to be.

The self you smothered in the name of 

Now you wonder, in the name of,

Who knows what.

I wasn’t ashamed of my feelings

I was confused

Confused by the reaction to my true self

Versus the reaction to what they perceived.

Confused and a little jealous now

Of women my age who were secure enough in themselves

And brave enough

To make the choice then

To say who and what they were

To live it.

I wasn’t that brave.

I wasn’t that sure.

For over sixty years I fought it

I tried to ignore it.

I was happy enough,

But not really.

I knew i was a facade

Waiting to be blown over

If the wind blew in the right

(or is it wrong)

Direction.

I knew cracks were forming.

I felt them getting bigger.

The wind getting stronger and persistent,

And i started to break free

And now I wonder what will happen

When the walls

Fully come down.

And i am left

Without a facade

Without shelter

Just me

And my story

Hanging on

Trying to pick up and move forward

With a life I barely recognize

A life I’ve never lived

A life I was afraid to live.

It’s time to

Come on,

Come on out.

Don't Cry for Me

 I think I'm still working on this one, but decided to post it anyway.

Don’t cry for me.

Don’t pray for me to change.

I like men.

I like women.

I don’t need sex with another person 

  to make me feel fulfilled.

I like physical interaction,

  I don’t get as much as I’d like.

I like the feeling of someone sleeping beside me.

I like to hug.

I like to spoon.

I like having a feeling in my gut that I only get

  when I see or think of that one person.

But I don’t like being controlled.

I don’t like when having sex makes me feel

  weak, inferior, like I’m doing something against my will.

I’ve felt passion from conversation,

I’ve felt passion from closeness,

I’ve felt passion during sex.

But after a while

The sex began to feel like control,

like ownership.

I don’t want to be with someone

  who thinks they own my body

  or have unlimited  rights to it 

  because of our relationship.

I want closeness.

I want exclusivity.

I want romance.

But i don’t need sex

  to prove there is love.

I Don't Want

Song or poem, I don’t know.

 

I don’t want someone who pats my ass

and says he owns my body

because we’re a couple.

I don’t want someone who wants me to praise him

every minute of every day

because that’s what he needs

and that’s my job.

I don’t want someone who needs me close

all the time

and needs to do everything together

I don’t want someone who needs to know

when and where I am going

and with whom

every time I try to go out alone.

That isn’t equals.

That is a needy person

using me.

That isn’t a loving relationship,

It’s control.

I just want someone who listens

  and doesn’t feel a need to twist my words

Someone who doesn’t correct, question, and belittle,

  just because he or she can.

Someone who doesn’t look for disagreement

  in everything i say or don’t say.

Someone who understands that we both 

  sometimes need

    space and silence.

  And we shouldn’t have to explain why.

Someone I can talk to,

Someone i can talk with,

Someone i can listen to

  forever

without feeling small.

without feeling like 

  I am no longer

    me. 

[Here’s the chorus/refrain]

Is someone out there

who fits the bill?

Haven’t found that person yet

Not sure I ever will.

Hi, How's it going

This one started as a letter to my daughters. But I felt bad about talking about their dad so I changed the wording a little.

 

Hi,

How’s it going?

Did you know that when I was a kid

I wanted to be a boy?

When I was your age, 

I had a female friend,

We held hands,

she did more,

I felt uncomfortable so I didn’t.

She was Christian.

I wasn’t.

I moved.

We drifted apart.

She’s the person 

who awakened my sexuality.

And then it went dormant.

until I met a man

and

thought I had found my soulmate,

Someone who thought of me as an equal,

Someone who loved me as much as I loved them,

Someone who would fight for me,

Someone who would trust me,

Someone who could be tender and understanding

even when I shied away.

I realized 

over time

that I hadn’t.