Another day rises from the ground
But with a different flavor to it
A day of traveling and clearing the cluttered mind
And also creating a wonderful time

Let the special day start with eating some delicious breakfast
Food that speaks to my soul
That makes me feel whole
And inspires me to conquer the road

When the road and I meet
Some of my favorite songs and I greet
Like it’s the first time
We’re getting to know each other’s mind
As I unwind during this special time

While jamming and cruising on an unknown highway
Various historical statues and beautiful land catch my eye
Giving me a positive high
That I don’t want to end
But continue to ascend

And embrace this rare feeling
A beautiful beach awaits me
And hypnotizes my eyes
With its waves

It waves at me and says ‘’come on in’’
But, before I take my first jump
I just want to stare at its beauty
And take a million pictures of it

Then I charge to the calming water
Like a soldier ready to do battle
But only remain in the safety zone
While watching others enjoy themselves

The perfect ending to a perfect day
It would be great to have another perfect day tomorrow
If only this could become a reality.
For now, wishing and dreaming about it will surface

Sincerely,
Gerald

What is a “perfect day”?

My head rested heavily on the pillow. Memories of the long day swirled in my mind. Exhausted, but content from my perfect day.
The empty tea mug was set gently in the dishwasher. My book lay closed by my ruffled bed. Sleep was calling.
A movie left unfinished, the kitchen was clean. House reset for another day.
The evening had been bustling with dinner preparations. The counters dusted with flour, pans, and spices. The food sizzled on the stove. Dessert wafted through the room.
Sunset called the evening home as we walked along the water. My darling pup ran in ahead as the city lights danced in the eyes of my lover.
The afternoon vanished from sight as pages were written, rewritten, and tossed. The book was being born.
Lunch was a quick salad break from a morning of creativity. Papers were strewn across the floor, books on the coffee table, and my favorite mug forgotten amongst the piles. My typewriter pierced the air with the prattle of the keys. Ringing to remind me I was at a new line.
The late morning awakened my senses as I sat in a quiet coffee shop, mulling over plot lines, speaking commitments, and blog fantasies.
Breakfast was a moment of calm before the crazy, my mind released all emotion and thought as I journaled a planned my day. The pup dashed around the house, energetic from the morning run.
Water gushed from the faucet sputtering in protest from the shower head. I washed all sweat and worry away, hopeful for a new day.
The sun crept from behind buildings and slowly woke up from its sleep. I smiled, walking back from the gym. Another beautiful start to another beautiful day.
My mind woke up moments before I pulled myself out of bed, my lover squeezed my hand as I left for the gym.
What is a perfect day if not one spent doing what you love with who you love.

I’ve awoken
in cars
off a shoulder
overlooking the sea
started my day
with morphine
and coffee
and vomit on the street
I’ve awoken
in deserts
under one single tree
beside strangers
on carpets
slipped away quietly
I’ve driven til shadows
melt into sands
and the stars bleed
into purples and pinks
when cold weather
has dried out my hands
and I’m too hungover
to speak
I’ve awoken
in twin beds
in distant lands
with lillies draping my canopy
with no one around
to marvel at scenery
with me
throughout this wide world
all my wheel’s quick rotations
all the planes
and the trains
and the rides
from London’s Heathrow
to Grand Central Station
every dawn
I’ve awoken
to rise
everyday is impeccable
all the struggles
and pain
so delectable
as the earth
flips through the slides
in my eyes a
projection of beauty
the greatest adventures
the prefect day
is the day
I’m alive
and I live it
and seize it—no matter the risk
perfection is this
what we all
wake up with
this wonderful gift
all scared and excited
to be welcome; invited
to live for the sake of living
to rise and to fall
to feel love and
feel lost
and the awe to awaken—
awaken at all.

Our day starts with coffee. Black, no sugar and two creams. Just how you like it. I would pour myself a cup too, even though I hate coffee, and sit both coffees on the end table by your rocking chair. I can hear your voice now: “Thank you baby.” Your voice hoarse from years of labor. We would pick our cups up and sip at the same time. Well, not quite at the same time. I always forget to blow my drink first and burn my tongue. My face twisted up in pain. Whereas, you always blow your drink first and never take on more than you can bear. Literally and figuratively. Now that I am older, I admire how still you can be. Sitting, day after day, in the comfort of your rocking chair, drinking your coffee and watching Lifetime movies. I relish that stillness. On my perfect day I will definitely have to be still. I wouldn’t want to do anything at all, but put my feet up and drink bitter coffee. To some people the perfect day is a day on the beach but any day spent being still with you would be perfect to me. I would get hungry about halfway through my cup. My stomach growls, which prompts you to rock yourself out of your chair and head to the kitchen. Your walk weary from years of service on your feet. Following behind you, I grab a plate off of the table and hand it to you. You fill it with grits, sausage, eggs, french toast, a waffle and bacon. I could have made my plate, but you always made it for me. “Just sit down at the table, baby. I got your plate.” With an orange juice to match, I sit at the dining table and go to town. With a full belly, I waddle back to the love seat right next to your chair. I look outside and see kids playing, but I don’t feel that pain in my stomach anymore. Growing up without someone to play with and share secrets with has always weighed heavy on me. I carried loneliness with me throughout my adolescent and teenage years. Always an onlooker, a wallflower, the bullied. My perfect day I will not have those feelings or be consumed with looking to something that I don’t have. Even though I didn’t have a friend my age, I had a friend who didn’t mind drinking coffee and watching movies with me on a random Saturday morning. She might have been fifty years older than me, but she was my best friend. She never turned me away and she always made me feel like I belonged. If I can have one more day spent with you, just being still, that will be the perfect day. And I do have a secret to tell you, best friend. I miss you and I still hate coffee.

Don’t Give Up, It’s a Lie
I’ll tell you a story. Four years ago, I sat at the end of my chair at seven at night. I was tired, no exhausted, desperate, fearful, and as hopeless as I have ever felt in this false world, I built around me and played a make-believe character in, and I knew. I don’t know how I hadn’t known before. Maybe I had. Maybe I had always known. But right then I knew for sure.

It was a lie.

It was clearer to me in that moment than it had ever been before. I knew it without a doubt in my mind. I knew it and nothing and no one could ever change my mind.

It was a lie.

I did all the things you should do in that situation. I bent my head and covered my face and prayed. I prayed and I prayed and then I prayed some more. Tears streamed down my face, dripping on my shoes. The harder I prayed the more I knew.

It was a lie.

I had come to this place, this holy sanctuary three years earlier, searching, pleading for healing. I’d spent twenty-seven months on my knees in earnest prayerful repentance. I’d sat in circles surrounded on both sides by sexual addicts, pedophiles, and the sexually broken searching for healing. I’d listened for the voice of God to speak to me and fix my brokenness. To make me whole, make me straight. I’d sung songs, read verses, prayed endless prayers and nothing. But I tell you that night as my tears ran off the sides of my shoes and dripped to the floor, I knew.

It was a lie.

There was no amount of prayer or repentance that could make me straight. There was no sickness to heal in me. There was no sin to forgive. I was a lesbian not a sexual deviant, a lesbian. Everything they were telling me was false.

It was a lie.

Today I know as I did that night that I am whole just as I am. I’m not broken. I’ve heard a great deal about reparative therapy and trust me when I say it doesn’t work. Whatever else you read, whatever else you hear, remember this, it is not true. You cannot fix a homosexual and make them straight.

Don’t Give Up, It’s a Lie!

Perfectly Equal

Once upon a perfect day
All were equal in every way

Not color nor gender
Did prevent the render

Of kindness and care
Bestowed on everyone everywhere

In fact, all differences at hand
We celebrated in fashion most grand

And an impenetrable sphere
Protecting both straight and queer

And those dark skinned and light
Surrounded our earth, preventing a blight

Which threatened evil and strife
Upon this our most perfect life

For hate may have been the prequel
But equal would be the sequel

On this most perfect day
Conjured and imagined my way

My dear Lorinda, here’s to you
Some words of praise I feel you’re due

Too often quick to criticize
Much less likely to emphasize

The abundance of kindness, love, and grace
You thoughtfully grant those in your space

And opposite your gentle side
You’re a lioness who protects her pride

With fearless strength and fortitude
You don’t back down from any feud

I’m proud of the human you strive to be
And know you’ll continue to work on me

So, just like mom oft says to you
I love you so, Lorindy-Lou

2023

So much happened to me
In this year of twenty, twenty-three.
I got new hips for which to run
Each morning, each day, rain, or sun.
An essay of mine was published in a book.
I’m still quite sure I don’t like to cook.
My father’s progressed illness made me see
How unbelievably fragile this life can be.
Miss Mollie my sweet yorkie-poo
Turned six, in dog years, forty-two.
I ran in many races at varying paces.
And made friends with people from faraway places.
But the absolute best part of twenty, twenty-three
Was celebrating ten years with my wife, Sandy.

Parade participants dance and gyrate.
Snaking down the glittery rainbow street.
While drag queen’s sashay perfectly straight
Atop outrageously high heels, an incredible feat.

My eyes dart wildly from side to side.
Taking in ample amounts of bare skin
Of people unconcerned with a need to hide.
Of strangers marching closer than kin.

I breathe in the thickly weed scented air.
Feel the heat from the scorching asphalt.
I toss back my head without a care.
Unafraid of danger or assault.

On this particular day
There’s no hate for loving my own gender.
Surrounded by all the gay,
Love reigns in abundant splendor.

Five million gather to say thank you
For fifty years of Stonewall’s disquiet.
To honor and attest that which we hold true.
And to remember the first pride was a riot.