COMING OUT; My Coming Of Age (January 13th, 2020)

Trapped in a closet, leaf
Bloom’d; leave! Dawn on this hearth, croon by heart: what if
The rainbow came before the rain? Set, sky’s thief.

Bold rose ‘neath cold snow-
_Captain gay, rejoice haunted waters unknown. _
Fall not for their mock-hold; men reap what they sow.

Cometh, Mary’s Gold?
Comet of Lesbos, poet of Love untold:
Dragon’s Age is long gone, their rights ‘ve been sold.

Fly, Dandelion…
No flight, but fight. Come out: transform the eons!
No freeze, but breeze. O’, lion’s roar! carry on.

Dance ‘round, Willow Tree!
Not a flower, bee need still. This valley keeps free.
Let it rain. Rain it must! ‘Bow came before to be.

Call, ‘Forget me not,’
Recall! No butterfly by, at least, wings cut
Has battled rebel roots, at last, just to rot.

‘Blue Wild Indigo,’
They will point, ‘What difference with your fellow?’
Seek eye to eye with Dusty Eyes on the go.

Truth or dare, Aster?
Queer, this half-light; yet falling, yet shooting star.
Question the Moon: isn’t doubt the birth of knowledge?

THE RAINBOW CAME BEFORE THE RAIN
A Stornello by yours truly

—

Thus a newborn year whistles on the hindered rails of the past one. Thus, my last wish of departure resembles a passenger’s hand, sticking out of the window to set off as far as the eye can see– Love. My wish for this new year is love. To find love wherever I go, for whatever I do, in whomever I meet. And, in the same fashion, to give it.

Love is no privilege; ‘tis commitment. Love plays no ‘hide and seek’; it seeks to see eye to eye. What is it, but love, that in the blink of an eye can change people? What, but love, can save in a heartbeat? Love is freedom.

The riddle unfolds. Right there rest the shoes of the Marchant of Love. Rest assured: I shall step in them and carry dreams sound asleep. Everybody wishes on falling stars and dandelion’s petals– who wishes for them?

Mighty fire; what are you still waiting for? Hop on board, rookie! Drop the anchor: the rainbow ship sets sail. Tick-tock, the clock is knocking. ‘Tis time to wake dreams from their wintry lethargy.

Maddie Hatter here: I’m your MC for the day and a treasure hunt for bisexualitea is what you signed up for.

THE TREASURE HUNT: COMING OUT TO MYSELF

When society feels ‘tis right to just go on with the flow, ‘tis easier said than done to stand left against the current. As Orwell's prophecy foretells, Big Brother’s watching us – and the eye is ours. And indeed, it would be but sweet dreams, yet bitter lies, were I to write: no doubt, no judgment, no shame even, choked me when I realized, at first.

Savvy? Somewhere where all that matters is profit at the expense of proficiency (in Italy, for instance, no class is yet devoted to civil rights or sexual education), it must indeed be like that.

So, as a warrior struggles to hone their craft, questions must sharpen their claws on your mind, answers must shake your body with the rush of adrenaline. Give it time. Give it thought. Boom! Inner consciousness blooms to life. The will of taking action as well, to change the consciences of the lives around you, floods you.

I have never been at a pride parade.

I don’t own any flags, nor gadgets.

I crushed on several girls and boys, but never dated.

A Nightmare might have come upon me, though, if any of this made me any “less bisexual”. None of this makes me any less valid.

GUILD APPLICATION: A NEWBORN FAMILY BY CHOICE

The echo of that ‘noon’s memory stares like a yester photograph. The setting. The models. The pose. The shot, the click, the flash. All still sings to my ears.

Take a guess? ‘Twas January 13th, back in 2020. Within the four walls of my shelter, I stripped my soul bare in front of my mother. My wings broke free from the chains that embraced them ever since I was a little girl. I had done this to myself. Then the shell that sealed my pearl shut ripped open: the seed gave birth to a flower. Today, I’ll say, let us toast to my first coming out.

lesbian, fatherkels, and sahar luna image

A phoenix. I burn. I come alive. No Dusty Eyes shall ever take the light that bestowed my smile, that day. Or on May 10th, when my twin sister tasted my truth too. Nor any day after that. Whose expectations require straight folks to ‘come to terms’ with their sexuality? Whose impositions assume that cis individuals ‘get over’ their gender identity?

Likewise, no one will put pressure on importance based on my differences: I haven’t yet delivered the ‘news’ to my dad, as an example. Not anyone shall give me exposure when I don’t aim for the spotlight. The sole person that deems my own worth and dooms my own fall is me, myself and I.

Hence, on the occasion of my two-year anniversary, I figured out I would go all the way: I’d share my experience with this article. ‘Tis my personal manner to love my own person. Perhaps to love someone on the other side of the world, whose eyes will skim through the words– or will they trace them carefully? Either way, both will read my soul. Where the brave at? Who dares venturing into uncharted waters?

COMPASS AMISS OF AIM: FIRST-AID RELIGION

To believe or not to believe? That is the question, nowadays. And what in, if anything?

To teach or to preach? That is the problem, nowadays. Religion should be a handshake that teaches how to love, not a weapon that fires, preaching on hate.

Picture this: a wanderer astray, the shipwreck and her compass amiss of aim. The arrow has no target; her life has no purpose. She hasn’t brought a map on board, because she can’t read, or she doesn’t care to try, in the dim moonlight, by the convenience of no candle and the comfort of her glasses.

Once upon a time, that vagabond was I. On the run. At stake. Full of doubt.

But isn’t doubt the birth of knowledge?

What would the light be if her spouse was not darkness? And who would hope nurse, if despair were a foreigner? How could love prevail on our coin, if no hate laughed at its back? What would forgiveness earn, if no remorse preceded it? What would free will mean, if of choices only the lack of them could be contemplated?

The wanderer picked herself up, though her feet still stood on the soil.

She might have no map, but she had the sea. The tides rioted in dance and angels bid her welcome from the high. She did not drown farewell.

Her compass might have no aim, she reckoned, but the stars had come to pay her a visit and on the North the Guide reclaimed her gaze. She did not look down. She answered the call.

God was my first love. He was by me through surgery. Through the death of my grandpa and my uncle’s. God is the shoulder I still lean on: I follow His light as I embark on this quest as well, in search of myself.

I believe. I believe we are all equally worthy of love and just as free. Gender, sexuality, you name it… They play no role of difference in faith.

WAR PAINT: THE VOICE OF THE UNHEARD

This one is a hymn to representation; ‘_raise a glass to freedom,_’ as the good, ol’ Hamilton says. Therefore, an excerpt from a previous article of mine is of proper company:

“[...]mind to paint with all the colours at your disposal. You don’t purchase a palette to just use black, white and gray. People are diverse and unique. The major problem with literature and entertainment remains, however, a lack of inclusivity.

Hey, isn’t the propaganda all about how avant-garde the 21st century is? It seems to me, at times, that the only matter noteworthy in its frequent changes is fashion choice, when murderers and rapists walk free in a society that doesn’t collect enough evidence to condemn them or are set on the loose in any case but after a few months. A society where stigma reigns undisputed through labels and profits. Where all that is considered ‘different from the norm’ translates, you guessed it, as unacceptable.

Ask yourself, what is normal? Why is it? Who decided so? Now draw a line and turn the tide.

I stand resolute in my opinion that TV and art should advocate, even subtly, for their audiences - they, more than anything else, hold the power to resonate with each individual. The bigger picture is never just one in and with itself. Inevitably, it all comes down to details once more. And who can pick them up better than a creator?

So is change proportional to one’s efforts. It’s time that an old world expands to new horizons. Let us look out, for and after ethnicity, culture, autism, gender, sexuality, religion, beauty - the list might go on forever."

If you fancied the read, here you may find the article in question:

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Do check my other writing as well, as a humble bard of the duo ‘The Carillon Twins’ with my sister @kgirlucandoit. Our aim? Crafting words into worlds.

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Our fantasy world:

Our main project, the ‘Forget Me Not’ Trilogy:

Our first spin-off, part of an upcoming Duology, ‘Sweet Dreams, Bitter Lies’:

Other interesting reads on diversity that you should absolutely not miss:

If you’re on the lookout for inspiration in this uncharted land of perils and wonders:

CONCLUSION

What more’s left to say, me lanky youngsters? In the span of fifteen minutes, you fully formed into sea-dogs. Argh; ready to sail your own vessel? Beware of the perils in sight. Catch the scent of the treasures awaiting. May the wind guide you!

Honest is my hope to have prompted inspiration in your veins, however humble. Go grab a quill and some ink. Your writing is in need of spring-cleaning, as begs for it that jungle you insist on calling your room...

Would you like to hear my mad ramblings on any topic in particular? Want to kindle a debate in private? Cast a message in a bottle to me - how I’m head over heels for those! On this stray isle, I’ll count the days until contact finally reaches me. (Will it ever, I wonder?)

In the meanwhile, I’ll cry my wishes on today’s falling star down below. Only you may make it come true, by the magic tap of your finger.

A tip of the hat, a tick of the clock;

MADDIE HATTER

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