Sailing the Hurricane

Thunder claps, lightning, and rain. The 
roaring dark clouds hold the closure of 
haunted memories and mourn. 

One by one each droplet 
dives into a puddle like sheet 
music 
creating a beautiful song. 

Finding solace in the melody 
of the piano keys. 
The rhythm sings to my heart 

in a sweet everlasting echo 
of wonder. 
I close my eyes to see my heart 
undress to the world it once feared. 

My soul danced to the harmony, 
of the crashing waves. My energy 
transformed the sadness into 
love. 

I had never felt such a tsunami 
of acceptance for myself. 
Before, I’d let zephyrs push me 
back. 

Now, I calmly exhale the howling gales 
that the world tried to use and control 
to contain my sexuality. 

My existence is the evolution 
of the aftermath, of my once dying soul. 
The thrashing reapers of my past, 

the blood-lust bastards, I didn’t 
allow them to triumph. At the 
eye
of the storm, I chose me. 

The counter-clockwise seductive 
spiral can no longer hurt me, 
for I have chosen to sail forward. 

My body, like a vessel, has traveled 
nautical miles and has not, 
will not sink to the depths 

for the fear of the prejudice. 
I found my value in the acapella 
of the hurricane after years of being 

a captive prisoner to the sadist cyclone. 
Blaming myself for denying my truth. 
A hypocrite to my own words. 

Searching for a reason to be good enough. 
However, the reality of the mirror 
was to glance, not stare and live forever 

in a twisted reflection of pseudo tempting 
truth. Reviving in the moonlight, navigating 
in the sea of wishes to a bright and steady 

                      Tomorrow. 
 

(Now read the bold words from beginning to end.)

This work was originally published in Beneath the Soil Volume iii, a collaborative zine featuring artwork from queer survivors of sexual violence