If I Die At Pride

If I die at Pride, my name is Andi. 

Do not call me Andrea, I hate the name; but to change it is danger and shame.

If I die at Pride, my pronouns are They/Them, do not call me she; I was not strong enough to bear that title.
If I die at pride... tell my mother I was closer to a son than I ever was a daughter.
If I die at Pride, do not mourn my death, celebrate my life, return me to the earth; for I am a witch.
If I die at Pride, know I died screaming again. Know I've died at the stake before in another time. Know I will always outlive the hate.
If I die at Pride, my paternal grandmother and the aunt on that side are not invited to the service. I disowned them.
If I die at Pride know I curse the folk who are responsible with my dying breath. Know I will haunt them, eternal in my unrest.
If I die at Pride... send locks of my hair to my brother in sweden and my friend in the Netherlands.
If I die at Pride so many voices die with me.
If I die at Pride, know I died doing what I loved; speaking my truth and standing for human rights.
If I die at Pride, tell my boyfriend I loved him with every ounce of love I had, tell his daughter how proud I was to know her dad.
If I die at Pride, comfort my unofficially adopted children, Alex and Chelley.
If I die at Pride, bury me with a notebook and a pen, bury me with copies of my brother McCallum's books, bury me with dice.
If I die at Pride, I die by the fear of an uneducated man.
If I die at Pride, put "Hail Satan" on my gravestone. Put the tenants of the TST on my headstone, remind everyone of the words important to me.
If I die at Pride, lay me down with a rainbow, do not wear black.
If I die at Pride make my funeral the gayest there has ever been. I want a drag queen to read my eulogy, I want rainbows and life and love and everything GAY.
If I die at pride... I die fighting; just the way I lived.

Big Weird Brother

Good news, good news! The number of siblings I have in my life has gone up to three!

There's my sister, and I've written and read here about my Charlie, my younger brother... but did you know I have another?

I have another brother!

Ah, but this modern tale of sibling discovery has a twist; for there was no tryst. No teenage mishap fading into the mist.

My newfound brother does more than live in my heart, he lives in my town!

I have another brother... every time I think it, the tears threaten a flood.

If you've been to my open mic before, his voice, you've heard its sound.

I have a big weird brother, but not by blood.

I'm a strange kind of blessed, I pick the nuts that go in my family tree.

I'm doing better, though I'm still depressed, I know my brother is there for me.

I remember the night I met him, it was my first open mic.

He knows my soul has had nights dark and dim; he knows now what he didn't then- that he saved me from my own dark whim.

If you've been here some time, you know our open mic group hosts all kinds, musicians, poets, and even another writer.

He's brainy, eccentric, and above all so very shy and kind.

He loves Björk, he can dance, he can sing, the only thing he isn't much of is a fighter.

I think you've met my brother; a tall, shy man with heart-stopping, brilliant blue eyes.

He's an Author, that special kind of madman; a nut like me, in love with dreams and ink.

I think you've met my brother, his name is McCallum, but for the sake of this sappy poem, I can call him Mac.

We hide away in the corners, like birds of a feather- maybe bats?

Probably bats...

Bats.

There's a story there, I promise you that.

Isn't that the strange beauty of brothers beyond the bond of mothers, the friends who become family?

The people you can relate with, lean on, cry to... you can make one another laugh, even if you don't really try to.

But to circle back to the fact of bats...

(I see you smiling Mac.)

I have lived my life a bat.

Hidden away in my caves, spurning the lights of day, I'm bright and most alive from when the sun dies to just before it rises.

I lived my life disliked.

Dark and misunderstood; angry being held. 

I lived my life thinking, "Nobody likes bats."

Then there's Mac.

Arguably, he may be a bigger bat... 

(Hey, I love you, you know that.)

He likes bats; loves them.

From their tiny teeth, their little gossamer wings...

To their ability to inspire stories like "Dracula" among other things.

I think you've met my brother; heard his soul play in the way writers do on hearts and strings. 

You've seen him be brave, an Introvert onstage, a bat out and about during the day!

He doesn't drink blood, (he doesn't like people that much) but he thrives on coffee and tea, on Vinyl and strange bands. Passes his time with paint on his hands, longing to visit again strange green lands.

I think you've met my brother, isn't that grand?

He's the kindest person I know, to see this soul-scarred bat and say "I understand."

The kindest person I know, brave enough to hold out open arms where words have failed and action is left to speak.

Kind enough to listen, even when all this frantic bat can do is squeak.

My brother is a writer, an author, a wordsmith, story builder, world weaver, an artist with more backbone than a book has spine.

My brother is a man who has saved a life with just his words alone; tell me if you can say the same before you dare open your mouth to muddy his passion or his name.

I have a big weird brother; he's been more than a best friend.

For what it's worth coming from the lips of a heathen... I'd call him a godsend.

Brother 21

Written for my brother at heart Charlie, as a birthday gift for his 21st. 

"Brother 21"

I've been blessed in this life brother, to have you at my side, if just for now in spirit; I know more will come with time.
I know you in my head, as the smell of Rosemary and the sound of laughter.
I know you in my heart brother, even born a world apart.
Your laughter is an ocean, your smile is a mountain; great and wondrous things. Your voice, your comfort, soothing to these tattered heartstrings.
You are my brother, blood or not be damned.

Brother

I was not born to have a brother in blood. My brother in blood was unborn, unbreathing, lost to the crusade of time and fate.
No, I was not born to have a brother in blood, but a brother I have.
A brother I have; in love and choice. A brother I found at my low, a brother has stood by me, before I saw him as such.
My brother lives in Sweden, and of the family I've been able to choose, I'm glad I found him.
It was no pen pal experience, no foreign exchange, it was what my collective youth is mocked for; the internet, and our humor abhorrent.
My brother's name is Charlie, though I sometimes call him Max, though that doesn't change that he is my brother, a very simple fact.
He's got eyes unlike mine, soulful and brown, warm and loving, the soil of earth's crown.
He likes wine and he likes whiskey, he's a riot if you catch him tipsy.
He can play the ukulele, Against Humanity he can play a brutal game of cards, but best of all when I'm feeling low, he picks me up by the heart.
He's my little brother, but to me it's easy to see where he has lived just a bit more of life than me. That said, I've been in more fights than he, and what a sight would be be, me part Aussie and he a Swede.
Me screaming at him across the bar "Fight me!" and his tired reply, "Andi... please."
I could see him rolling his eyes and taking a shot, then hauling me out, before someone called the cops.
He loves dogs, he loves cows, it's funny to see his reaction when I say either of them are around.
"Picture now!" He'll demand, and I'll allow, because it's family, we're pals.
He's my little brother, it's funny and plain to see. As clear as the fact that he isn't at all related to me.
I get to build my family, to deconstruct the tradition, and I get to choose the nuts that go up in this tree!