First Wedding As Me

First wedding attended as me.

Dress and heels, and a bleeding heart.

A well spring that doesn’t stop flowing, but only now is feeling just what that’s meant my whole life.

A woman chosen, sparkling in her dress, radiant like a sun, tender like a flower, and celebrated like the Spring.

A man who can’t do anything but be near her, to hold her, to keep his hand on her waist, and announce his love for her like she’s the only thing that quenches the thirst of his soul.

A father dancing with his daughter, tears in his eyes over how beautiful the moment was.

A family cheering, smiling, clinking glasses in joy, their beloved brides softness finally recieved.

I went alone, and I felt myself.

My softness, the same softness that’s had to bore tunnels through reality to make it out the otherside of a long, dark, and lonely cave, now bursting at the seams, boiling over, ready to be picked up and held like a tea pot left on the burner too long, sounding out in overdue readiness.

And still I hope.

Still I hold my hand over my heart, the place he will one day touch.

Still I dream of a family that could receive me for me, and cheer on the sight of my softness burning in Love.

Still I dream of a world where my children will not have to be anyone else but their sovereign, authentic selves to be worthy of the embrace of family, lover, community.

And as I type this out in a silent house, within the continuous alone,

I know somewhere deep in my bones there are sparks

There are sparks out there

That Remember what Love is

That feel the Ember of my heart

That know that the only way to Love is vulnerable surrender

To let the light all the way through, and dance the dance that comes when you’re bare and naked to reality

And those who join the dance floor, Remember with you, sing together, with no one above, only beside.