This poem honours all of those who have died and those who continue to resist: you are not alone!
I still feel like a child,
and I still wish I was with all my soul.
I feel like I would not survive if I were alone in this world.
I ask God every night,
—because they have taught me that I must pray, and I do have faith—
because I am still a child,
and they have taught me that God fits into a simple prayer.
At family gatherings, I heard it said to everyone, “if I had a faggot son I would prefer he were a drug addict or a thief, or I would simply kill him.”
Because why would one want a fag for a child?
I saw everyone respond, “yes, yes, of course, why would you want to have a child like that,” and my mother agreed. I understood what was being said, and I felt every single one of those words and every one of the responses.
I also heard my relatives ask my mother why I was so feminine when I spoke and my mother responded that she didn’t know.
When I hear that people want to kill me, I get very afraid.
I have seen death before, I have seen it in the streets and in the shops.
I have felt its blows, I have seen it in the eyes of my friends and family members.
That’s why I prayed before and why I pray now,
for my nightmares to stop,
for the nightmares to never return.
My death wishes started early on,
the ghost of suicide with whom I speak since I was a child
has always been there.
I see him clearly,
I can tell him apart from my other emotions,
without knowing when I will be free of him.
I have spent many nights praying,
praying that my life will be different when I awake,
that tomorrow will be different,
that he won’t be there to greet me.
When I was younger I prayed to change,
to become someone that they wanted me to be.
But as my faith changed
I started to pray that I would awake and become the person I want to be,
that I would become the man that I have hidden under all my prayers.
So that when I fall in love, people will see me as I am,
and they can see me bloom.
I pray for love,
for God’s forgiveness,
for my mother to forgive me.
I continue praying that the world may love me,
that they may see me for who I am.
I often feel as though God doesn’t hear me,
I feel like I’m praying to a God who is deaf, blind, and mute.