Hearing it
such a sad
thing
thought
and escaped,
“He would have been so proud of you.”

Do the words still mean the same?
Coming from you?

“Following your heart.
Becoming who you are.”

He said the word “fag,”
a lot.

Or often enough.

But I know that he’d love me still.

I never wanted anyone to walk me down the aisle.
I can only give myself away. And who knows if I will.

But still I have this image
of a ghostly white,
healthy man—
my father
walking me down an aisle.
I’m in a ghostly white dress
and the silence almost hurts.

But this image is only
one that finds me
when I can’t dream while
I sleep.

Dragged from saved files
in my brain,
computer operated
automatic input.

And I know I have support.
And I know I don’t always take care of myself.

I find fulfillment
when I have something
in my head that I have to find and press out
on to paper
or through my keyboard.

But still tears come and it’s okay.
No need to shake the feeling.
It feels right and sad
and that’s okay.