Nursing the Dark, Eating the Light, a Fable, by Radiance Angelina Petro

Nursing the Dark, Eating the Light

A Fable

by

Radiance Angelina Petro

 

 

One day, an acorn and a cicada nymph were talking underground, when a beam of light suddenly appeared shining down on the acorn.

“What is that?” asked the acorn.

“It’s light,” said the cicada.

“Why is it tugging at me?”

“That’s what light does.”

“What if I don’t want to move?”

“Dunno,” said the cicada, “I’ve been under here for 17 years. I like the dark.”

“I haven’t been under here for nearly as long,” said the acorn, “but it sure is comfortable.”

“And cool,” said the cicada, “and snug, and yeah, so cool—wonderfully cool.”

“What do I do?” asked the acorn.

“About what?”

“The pull.  I mean, my heart feels like it’s breaking, and something inside wants out.”

“Go with it,” said the cicada. “So part of you moves into the light? Your roots will always be in darkness.”

“And what about you?”

“Me?” Said the cicada, “Well, when the light draws me out, and I climb a tree and wait for my wings to spill out, then my roots will be in the sky.”

“Should I try to fight the light?” asked the acorn.

“Good luck,” said the cicada. “Funny thing is, once during late summer, you fell to the ground and the darkness pulled you under and you loved it. You didn’t resist. You couldn’t resist. I heard you sinking down. You were weeping and laughing all at the same time because it was so nourishing and safe-feeling to be under here. Now you want to fight the light. Try this, just try breathing in the light, and see what happens.”

The acorn did as the cicada suggested and she suddenly felt the light breathing her and she found herself unfurling into the bright, blue sky, and the light–she was eating the light.

“There ya go,” said the cicada.

“Aren’t you coming?” asked the acorn as she turned away.

“When I have suckled the roots of the mother tree long enough,” said the cicada, “then I will come. For now I am still nursing the dark.”

 

 

 


 

 

 


As of the posting of this story, I am still unemployed and without an income.  Please help if you can.  All my love, Radiance

Do Yourself a Favor, by Radiance Angelina Petro

Do Yourself a Favor

By

Radiance Angelina Petro


Do yourself a favor:

Wake up

Someday,

And lie by the window

From about 4 AM

Thru full sunrise.

 

Notice, watch, experience

How light comes.

How it washes over you so almost

Imperceptibly

Slowly,

And washes away the darkness

Absorbing it into itself, or simply

Taking its place.

 

Go ahead.  Be there here.

Do yourself

A favor

And watch the light

Become you

And you

Becoming the light.

 

As you do

You begin

Taking form, shape,

And shadows are revealed,

And edges, and open spaces,

And your favorite things,

And an indescribable delicacy

And sweetness comes,

Sits with you, lies with you, crawls

Right up next to you, and purrs.

 

Little by little

It touches everything,

Blesses everything,

And your eyes will adjust to seeing,

And you will be so grateful for the windows

In your life—

The clear ones

Letting in the light.

 

It will not force itself in

And yet it cannot be stopped.

It just needs

(and really, doesn’t even need—it wants)

To be

Received,

Or, at very least,

Surrendered to

Eventually,

And it likes to be received

In praise, or, at very least,

In wonder.

 

Not because it needs praise

But because it knows

You need to be praising,

For that is

What it’s doing here now

With you.

It

Is praising

You.

 

And

If you are not careful, and

Carefree,

Once the light

Establishes itself fully,

And the dawn, the morning

Comes fully,

You might be tempted

To cover your head

With the pillow

And regret doing this silly exercise,

Because now

You have to go to work soon,

And now

You will need extra coffee.

 

Just remember—

Through (out) the day–

You were just revealed

In light,

Bathed in light,

Kissed, blessed, washed,

Manifested, assembled, formed,

And loved

In with by light.

You were shown

Who and what you are

And how things will happen

On the last day,

And what it means

To be baptized

In spirit and truth.

 

And if you close your eyes while this is happening,

And just for a second drift back to sleep,

And then catch yourself awake again,

And open up your eyes again,

You will see

(Again and again)

That those few precious few seconds

Of your own self-induced darkness

Disappear

And you notice then even more now then

That more light is with you,

And smiling

New horizons

 Into you,

Into your room,

Into your mind,

And of course, it is OK, and necessary

To blink, and to rub

Your eyes, and to sleep

Just remember to do yourself a favor

Someday

Someday soon now

Why not today now?

Wake up

And lie there

As light comes to get to know you,

And

After being with

The light—

Rise, if you can,

Stretch, if you can,

Reach, if you can—-be, if you can

A trembling flower steady trembling flower fresh

In the morning glory joy dancing trembling,

And then, if you can, smile back

At the light trembling in dance to see

You.

 

Then pause.

 

Inhale the light

Right

Into you.

 

No, it will not burn—

It isn’t that kind of light—

This is light you can breathe

And is as soft as the air itself,

And that has a name—it is called

Here I Am Here We Are Here and Now We Are There Here,

And it will whisper through you, singing ever

So softly until it becomes you

Becoming

The sea

Becoming yourself

Out loud

 

Saying:

Explore—step off into your life—

Make waves, dismiss limits

Of shore and time–

You are being received,

Ushered in,

Guided by,

Encouraged by,

Enjoyed by

Light—

Light that is now

Here fully

With you, naked, exposed,

Beyond being vulnerable—

It is ready, willing, and

Able

To give itself

To you

And to take you

If you want you,

And to lift you

Lift your feet,

Kiss open your eyes fully

To see

And to kiss your mouth

To speak only clarity,

And to sing your heart mind awake,

And so then you will speak words and conversations

Of light,

And your songs

Will be light and of giving thanks light,

And you will become so onewith-in being

The light—

You yourself the I Am—

That everywhere you go

You will become a living morning,

A walking sea,

A dancing, singing sun,

A bringer of possibilities,

That you will not cannot need to own—just bestow

At the feet of the world only

To then keep going,

Touching

Everything,

Spilling gifts

Everywhere,

Being a gift yourself

Everywhere spilling,

Kissing everything around you

Awake

And into

Now here and

I Am here we are here

In and of and why here,

And yes, and see, and know, and you and

I and all of us

Moveable

Roots

Growing

Up and down

In love soil

Sky soil

Earth of heaven and heaven of earth soil,

And we will take one another’s hands like

Promenading trees,

And lift one another from the table,

Closing laptops,

Putting away phones,

And we will dance

And we will spin

Into more dancing,

More shores,

More earth

More heaven earth

More earth heaven

More sea

More dancing in the sea dancing

Roots singing too with branches swaying,

And we will wave,

And we will dance

Some more,

Leaping into one another’s arms like lovers, like

Sea shore sky lovers–

So grateful

To see one another again,

And we will never maybe ever

Touch again on this earth

And yet once

We part

More light forms

Between us and we laugh and we weep

And we sing and we know and we sing and we dance some more—

We see we laugh we grow we know some more,

And cannot help

But rejoice some more

And go around

Embracing everything

And everyone some more

With the presence of here and now

And more

I Am we are here now there here now there—

Here—

See?

Isn’t it wonderful?

You know it is,

And it’s OK to say so

While you sit back down,

Sipping your coffee, getting back to work,

Checking emails, texting emoji’s, putting on

Sunglasses and going off into your world—

It’s alright—

There is light

In your briefcase, your pockets, your cup

Of coffee, your thrumming touched and blessed holy infant

Head and heart and toes and it is so glad

You came and took a moment

As it was given

And shared it with your day, your plan,

And any weariness you may have

In your arms and legs or heart—

You were you are willing

To carry exchange light—

The light you are here now I Am with you light.

 

The light, we are here now

The light I Am we are

And so

And so

We sew

Light

With invisible visible threads

And golden needles

Soft as baby-hair,

Never

Ever

For a second

Trapping—

Only

Freeing

Opening

Wanting

 Letting

You

Step out

And into

Yourself,

Your day, your world,

And back

Into the self

Of another

Where you see

Light becoming light

And being light yourself

You smile,

Sip your coffee,

Sip each other, sip the light,

And be now here I Am

 We are now there here now.

 

And then skip a little, lift off the ground a little

In ever so slightly

Little lifts and skips

And leap a little, skip

A beat

And make

New dancing a little more

With every oceanic step and little river

Step and little drop of water step

And sweat upon your breast step, and dew upon the dew step,

And feel light

Lifting your feet

Without effort

Without force—

Just lifting—

And you

Will be born

Into your own life—

 

Therewith everyone else

Being born into theirs

As morning

 

You become sun

You become who

You become what

You become ever-

Here

There

We

Are

Were

Here

Now and

I Am you are I Am you are we are

Here we are there here we are

Here

Now

Here

Then

Here

We are

Us

Individually

Indivisibly

Us

Singing

Being sea being sky being light

Skipping

A way

And a new revelation

Begins with and

Is with

Is of with

Is of now with

In of in gratitude with

Us

For the way’s revelation of the way

The road

 The path

The horizon

That is simply

More light

That can’t wait, but tries to wait, yet cannot wait,

To be with you here now forever we are

I Am there here and now

We are together always

 

Forever

Blessed and cresting

Ebbing pausing moving touching everything

And being touched by shore

By sky by sea

By shell by stone by swirls

By castles by whole bodies

Being born again

Here now I Am we are herewith

Each other blooming again here now

There now

Ever now

In each other

Together ever

Now and

With the dawn.


flower wow



 

 

And please, if you would, I am still without an income and soon to be without a place to live.  Any donations you give will help enormously at this time.  Thank you.  All my love, Radiance <3



For My Therapist, Dr. Sullivan, by Radiance Angelina Petro

For My Therapist, Dr. Sullivan

by

Radiance Angelina Petro

 

Dr. Sullivan

 

Dear Friends,

I want to introduce you to my therapist, Dr. Sullivan.  Dr. Sullivan is a spiritual counselor (an ordained interfaith minister), a sociologist, a gender studies professor, author, feminist, shaman, hypnotist, and over all amazingly gifted, kind, and wonderful person who I both respect and admire.

I truly believe my sessions with Dr. Sullivan have been, and continue to be, transformative.  She supports and guides me through some of the difficult challenges in my life as a transgender person.  Over the last year she has also been integral in helping me get to a place of actually wanting to live and to thrive while living.  She has helped me with my transition and is tremendously insightful, wise, and commonsensical as well about my life as a transwoman struggling to find work and a place to live.  Her deep spiritual insights have helped me navigate the intense self-hatred I have carried with me most of my life.  Dr. Sullivan is open, attentive, and deeply compassionate.  She is very well versed in LGBTQIA issues and her vast knowledge of gender studies helps especially with cases like mine.  But she doesn’t just work with people on the LBGT spectrum.  She works with anyone.

If you are looking for an amazingly gifted therapist or you know someone who is, then please contact Dr. Sullivan at 215-704-4264.  Her website is www.rosechild.org.  She is local to Philly and also does Skype sessions for clients around the world.

Thank you Dr. Sullivan.  I am so grateful you are in my life. <3

 

 

 

 


URGENT MESSAGE, PLEASE READ AND SHARE by Jennifer Angelina Petro

Dear Friends,

You may not know this but I lost my job of 16 years this past June, due, in large part, I believe, to being transgender. I am also about to lose my home leaving me a divorced, 48 year old unemployed and homeless transwoman.  I am applying to many different jobs and have only had 2 interviews in some 60 applications thus far.  Seems there is little market for people like me, even with my stellar teaching resume.

Right now, I have no source of money in my checking account and cannot pay for groceries or other things I need to just get by. I applied, and was turned down for, unemployment. I am trying to get food stamps and welfare, but the process is slow and I need groceries now and there are basic bills to pay, like water, electricity, etc.

If you are able, please consider donating to me on my blog using the donation button at the bottom of this post and that appears on the bottom of nearly all recent posts. I was hoping to use any donations from here for future gender-affirming surgeries (even though only 2 people have donated in the past 2 years), but anyway, I need to eat. I am desperate, and scared.  If you can, please help. I hate asking this….I have never before in my life ever asked for such a thing.  I never would have envisioned this being my life at 48.

Writing this post breaks my heart. I was going to do some sort of crowd-funding for my surgeries as soon as I got on my feet again, but to be asking for money for food is heartbreakingly sad.

But OK.  There you have it.  I have kept this blog for about 6 years and love it.  I hope you do too.  You know, if you’ve been following me all these years, that I have never asked for such a thing.  This is real.

Thank you everyone for reading and for donating. Please feel free to share this post with those who you might think would be willing and able to help.  I love you all. Thank you with all of my heart.

Yours Ever, Jennifer (Radiance)

 

 

I promise anything you send will be used for food and other day-to-day essentials until I can get foodstamps or some other source of assistance, and most hopefully, soon, a job, somewhere, anywhere.


The Next Neighborhood Over, by Radiance Angelina Petro

The Next Neighborhood Over

By

Radiance Angelina Petro


Trying to follow the sound

Of the cicadas is what it’s like

Trying to follow the sound

Of god.

 

Cicadas throw their voices

And you can think one

Is right up in that tree over there,

When, in fact, it is actually

In a tree in the next neighborhood over.

 

Trying to trace the sound

Of god one finds oneself

Tracing figures in the air,

Or wishes on the shore.

 

 

Listening to the sound

Of god is much easier

Than asking the source

Of that sound questions.

 

When the cicada stops singing

And falls unseen

From its branch high up

In the tree, the silence

Signals us that change is here—

 

We realize waiting for answers

Is foolish and a waste–

Autumn is coming.

 

So we had better be prepared.

 

When we notice

There is no singing in the trees,

When we realize we have forgotten

Entirely about the sound—

We know winter is here.

 

And if we don’t do something

Outlandish and daring

In order to try making the sound

Ourselves,

Our ears will freeze over with regret,

Our hearts will harden from lack of use.

And our dreams—the ones

We used to use as compasses

To follow the sound

Of god, will be carried away, like

The shell of a cicada,

Like the shell of a sound,

Like the shell of a god

That used to play

Hide and seek with us

From the next neighborhood over.



 

 




Thank you for supporting my transition.  Radiance <3

Continue reading


Radiance Reporting, by Radiance Angelina Petro

Radiance Reporting

By

Radiance Angelina Petro

************************************************

The thoughts contained in this poem

are a small part of what goes on in my head on a daily basis.

Thank you for reading.

**************************************************

On the days I take off from shaving

I think:

Ahhh, that feels

Good to not do.

And then I think:

Shit, this messes with which

Bathroom I go in if I leave the house.

I look less traditionally

Fem, and so, I probably can’t

Safely use the ladies room (my rightful restroom).

I better wear androgynous clothes

So I can use the men’s room—

I can go in there with a scruffy face and jeans,

And if I wanted to, hell

I could pee standing up (I can still do that, you know).

 Me unshaven nonbinary




Please donate to my transition.  Thank you, Radiance <3

I Want You to Know, by Radiance Angelina Petro

me again again

 

 

I Want You to Know

By

Radiance Angelina Petro

 

 

For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.                       ——Second Timothy 1:7

 

 

I want you to know

I believe in spirits.

I don’t believe there is some god

Sitting around somewhere doling out spirits—of any kind.

Spirits are not things to be given

Or taken.

Spirits do the giving (and yes, the taking).

Spirits move and live and have

Their being in, around, above, below, and through

Us.  They travel looking for places

To stay—sometimes forever, other times

They just want to stop by, check out

How things are going, and then move on.

Other times they come to stay awhile

And live in your hostel mind.

Most are pretty unassuming and quiet,

Whispering only now and again

Via the wind in the trees above your head

Or in some other such manner.

Other times they can be a bit testy,

Especially when you hook one

With your emotions.

Then they can become like angry fish

And do their best to snap your line.

And yes, there are ones that mean you harm.

The main thing I want you to know though is this:

I believe in spirits.

It is important to me

That you know that.

Keep in mind:  spirits

Are not ghosts.

Spirits are spirits.

Ghosts are ghosts.

Spirits wander freely.

Ghosts stay stuck in one place, screaming

Or weeping, or running up and down the hallway,

Sometimes they sit behind chairs or in walls laughing—but not

Easy laughing—more like trapped, misunderstood laughing—

The kind one might hear in an asylum.

Spirits are not angels either.

Angels are angels.

Spirits are spirits.

Several of them (spirits)

Live in me.  I used to think

There were just two—a male and a female.

Now I know my soul and body and mind

Are a city of spirits.  Sometimes

Things thin out a bit and I am more

A house of spirits, or a garden of spirits—

Like I said though—the main thing

I want you to take away from this poem is:

I believe in spirits.  I think you

Get that now, and whether or not

You believe me, or whether or not

You believe in spirits, does not matter to me.

I told the truth.

That is the best I can do.

 

 


 

 

 




Please support my transition.  Thank you.  Radiance <3

Reflections on Clothing, Body Hair, Shaving, Joseph, Mowgli, Spirits, and My Spiritmother from Home, By Radiance Angelina Petro

Reflections on Clothing,

Body Hair, Shaving, Joseph,

Mowgli, Spirits, and My Spiritmother from Home

By

Radiance Angelina Petro

 

mowgli eye

 

I remember, before I came out, going to work wearing a tie, stiff slacks, dress shoes, and getting called, Joseph and Mr. all day; and then, coming home, shedding it all—dropping it all—like unnecessary armor—the clothes, the name, and then putting on my comfortable clothes–the ones I had started buying and wearing in secret, the ones I have always wanted to wear but didn’t know it—the ones that made my body feel alive; and finding myself suddenly breathing again.  I hadn’t realized it, but I had been holding my breath in a very real sense the whole day.  In my silken night gown however–beard and all, hairy everything and all–I felt at home in my body.  And then, add to this wonder, the discovery that I could choose my own name, and I felt like a queen—well, more like a sorceress brewing her own life.

The day came when I found myself shaving my arms for the first time.  I couldn’t believe how freeing it was.  This may sound hard to believe, but the day I shaved my entire body (well, what I could reach, that is), I hadn’t planned on doing it.  I just stood there naked in front of the full-length mirror, took the clippers out, and started.  Some of you may not know this, but I used to be hairy as hell.  When the tufts of hair began to fall from my arms, chest, legs, belly, my…well, other parts—I laughed and wept, and then laughed and wept some more.  I was so incredibly happy.

I wasn’t shaving to try to look like some feminized image in my head—nor was I, nor am I now, against body hair on anyone—but for me, it was a moment of liberation and revelation, and shaving felt like shedding, molting—stepping out of bearskin and becoming human.

Same as when I wore “women’s” clothes for the first time.  Of course there is no such thing as men’s or women’s clothes—I know that now—but those first few weeks I started wearing clothes I thought were women’s, were among the most innocently sweet times of my life.  Yes, you and I both know I am prone to hyperbole and just a touch of drama—but who cares?  It’s the truth.  First time I wore a woman’s blouse and skirt I felt euphorically happy. And when I put a dress on for the first time– hiding up in my room late one Friday night in late winter– I admit I felt aroused, but much more than sexually–I felt blessed, validated, home—a kind of arousal I had never experienced before but that would soon be eclipsed by the watershed moment when I realized what all of this meant (not that it needed any meaning)—the moment I realized I am transgender.

What I saw in the mirror that night was right and good, even though, as I said, I still kept a beard—which in those first few months, felt like an incongruency.  I now know many gorgeously handsome men who wear dresses and sport beards and they look (and are) amazing. But then there came the day the beard had to go too.  And for me, I have done my best since that day, to look and feel as shaven as I can. That is my preference.  Somedays I put on my skirt and a t-shirt, eye makeup and go out without shaving—occasionally I won’t shave for two days, but that is rare.

The thought of wearing a tie now, or the old clothes I used to wear, sickens and saddens me—or rather, makes me feel like it’s a violation of my being to even think about wearing them.  And I know that is still stinking thinking—that it doesn’t matter what I wear—I am a woman through and through—fuck what anyone else thinks a woman should or shouldn’t be or wear—I get it—intersex complications all rolled into one me—I am a woman—no matter what I wear, how I dress, or how much body hair I choose to keep on or not.  And yet the feeling remains that to wear those old clothes would be like wearing fire.

And today, alone in my house, but not alone inside—for I have you and others—I no longer have to hide anything.  This is me (of course, yes, there are still things I hide just for the sake of the joy of mystery).  For the first time in a long time, I am OK with me—with who and what I see in the mirror.  I am not where I want to be in many ways with regards to my physical appearance, but I am moving in the direction that feels right for me.

Wednesday, at therapy, I had the most profound sense that Joseph was ready to leave—that he had done his work and was ready to go back into the light.  He had protected me; did his best to keep me safe.  Even as the abuse piled on—he hid me, sheltered me from the blows—he took me into his soul.  And when I told him I was ready to give birth to myself he acted as midwife and wept with joy the hardest when he saw me standing in front of the mirror all dressed in satins and silks holding a little girl in my arms.

His spirit remains in me, but his soul has gone home.  This may be hard to understand—this difference between spirit and soul.  All I know is that spirit is like another mind—another voice or breath, while soul is the like the essence behind that mind or breath.  It is like the music of the voice and its meaning.  Spirit is mist, soul water, body earth holding all of the above.

I live with two spirits with my own soul in one body.  It’s hard to explain but it makes sense to me.  Yes, each spirit has its own, individual soul, but their souls are their souls and have little to do with me.  My soul is my soul, like your eyes are your eyes, and this body is mine—a woman’s—even if it has shades of Joseph shimmering through.

It would not surprise me in the least, by the way, to find out one day, sooner or later, that I am not two-spirited—but many spirited.  Just as there are many genders made manifest in our waking conscious lives there are many gender-spirits swirling about us—and they are all—each and every one—beautiful and scented with earth and dappled with stars, and, with my luck all looking for a home (for that is what many spirits do—they look for homes to dwell in while others are content to travel through the trees and across ponds never settling down anywhere).

Last night, Joseph sent a firefly into, and then out of, my room.  I know it was him checking up on me.  And when I blew him a kiss I felt myself grow taller into my own being.

I know too that it was my mother—my spiritmother—who sent Mowgli to me (well, she is more than my spiritmother, but that is another story—she is also more than my most recent earthmother, but that too, is another story).  Spiritmother wanted me to know I am loved and that I needed to allow myself to be loved by people here.  She wanted me to know that freely accepting and giving love with vulnerability, joy, and wisdom—is OK—even though it will always mean heartache at some point or another (there are worse things than heartache—there is heart emptiness, heart sickness, and heart rage—I have experienced all of these and at very least heartache cooks up along with it poetry and the longing that pervades the best poetry). Spiritmother sent Mowgli to me to let me know she was thinking of me, and that I am with her always, and she with me, and that, unlike I had been wrongly thinking for so long, I can bewith her whenever I wantneed.

Looking at pictures of Mowgli today, his eyes betray the source of the mystery that is the love of my spiritmother.  And, even as uncertainty swoops and dives around my head, I am safe—here—in my own true self, together, with you.

When that watershed moment came when I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I am transgender, everything I knew and didn’t know, bloomed into that one divine, precious moment, and the joy from that moment echoes today through my entire being—right through my fingertips and toes.  Yes, the watershed moment caused a mud-slide and many houses turned on their foundations and careened down the hillsides of their lives. Yes, the watershed moment flooded the streets of many hearts and preconceived ideas of who I am or was.  Sure, the watershed moment washed out many old yards littered with the shells of old cars and rundown sheds.  Nature is like that.

That moment though was the single most soul expanding moment I have ever experienced thus far in this life, and I stand today in deep gratitude and humility that I was picked to experience a second birth in my own being, my own body—that my own soul got to realize itself while in a body—that the spirits within me have a chance to sing, dance, to revel by the fires of passion and purpose.  They get to live as freely inside of me as they want—which, is a lot—is totally—is completely—is without reservation or hesitation—is without shame—is without malice towards anyone—is with utter simplicity and fullness of breath and room to explore and to wonder and simply be.

There is more to the story, of course.  It is still writing itself in the sand and on the water and in the wind and in the fires and bones of the world. This is where I am at this moment, Friday, August 05, 2016.  As I go about my day today, looking for work and a place to live, I am also playing detective trying to piece together the intersex narrative that has been running through the pages of my life like an unseen river which is only now beginning to rise, spilling forth over the banks of the ideas I used to think held me—even as a transwoman.  The mystery continues and more shall be revealed.

 

 

mirror 1

 


 

 

 




Thank you for supporting my ongoing transition.  Yours, Radiance

Untelling the Lies, by Radiance Angelina Petro

Untelling the Lies

By

Radiance Angelina Petro

 

 

All poetry

Fesses up

To something.

No matter

If you, the composer,

Sing of witches,

City streets,

Serbian atrocities,

Mountains, or rivers.

You reveal something

Of yourself

That cannot be easily hidden

To the naked eye

And ear.

You can try

To compose

Anonymously,

But that is like

Your breath

Being anonymously breathed

From your own lungs.

I write of aliens, fireflies,

Roots, little epiphanies,

And sometimes

Poems funnel

Through about being

Intersex and trans,

But in each and every word,

Each coma, line-spacing,

And pause, you see

Me, and know a little bit more

About me.

Let go of whether

Or not your songs

Are confessional—merely

Confessional.

You cannot prevent your poems

From showing

Your hand

Any more than you can

Stop pain

From reflecting itself

In your eyes.

So go ahead,

Speak to us.

Admit things

About yourself

That can be cleverly

Couched in syllables

And roots.  Tell us

Who you are—

It is important,

And in doing so

You are helping vulnerability

Become as common place

As shame, and, with any luck,

Even more so.

For in the same way

You cannot conceal

Yourself between the lines

Or the words,

You cannot shirk

From the responsibilities

Writing them brings either.

You see, you and I,

Each has their own sets

Of responsibilities and reasons

As to why and when and how

We write, and, over time,

We must discover what those are

Because no matter what

They are—they are ultimately moral

And in need of fulfilling,

Just as water fulfills the ocean.

Every poem ever written

Fesses up to something.

So proclaim.

Expel demons.

Revolutionize.

Attest to resiliency.

Steel entire nations

Against storms of dryness.

And as you breathe life

Into lines and symbols,

Resuscitating the word–

You

Are shedding

Light,

As a snake sheds skin.

Only the light you shed sonars

Into the atmosphere

Revealing obstacles here

Or there for others to avoid,

Keeping in mind

Some obstacles

Are as necessary

As kisses.

In other words:

People are watching, waiting, listening,

For you to speak—

To speak some truth

They always needed to hear,

But only now, from you, can.

With every poem

You write, you are helping

Each of us unlearn

What we should have

Never learned.

You are helping

Destroy the world

Of a loneliness that is pandemic,

And helping create

Soul-expanding

Congruencies between people

Of all shapes, sizes, genders,

Races, ethnic backgrounds, ages,

Economic statuses, and political leanings.

Look around.

See how much beauty

There is,

How much light

Comes to you

Or that you believe you

Draw down, or through,

Or up-from

Yourself—

It doesn’t matter

What you believe

About the origins of the revelation,

What matters is

You shine yourself to yourself,

And, more importantly,

You shine to others.

That is how we expose the lies

That need untelling.

That is how we exercise shame

Into its rightful place

Of gone.

That is how we become

Who we always secretly wanted

To be.

 

 

 


 

 


Thank you for supporting my continued transition.  Yours, Radiance <3

I Am Not a Walking Incongruency, by Radiance Angelina Petro

I Am Not a Walking Incongruency

By

Radiance Angelina Petro

 

me again 2

 

 

I am not a walking incongruency

Like I felt I was for so long.

This husky voice, this poorly covered

Five o’clock shadow, these shoulders,

Hands—and this–

This metallic-purple eyeshadow,

Creamy rose lipstick, this pink and gold glitter

You see in my hair and on my face,

This second-hand skirt and blouse,

These breasts, these turquoise painted fingernails—

This is all me.  The one and only

Incongruency is you.

Just because I do not agree

With how you think I should look

Or be, or dress, does not make me

The one who is wrong.  You

Are not even wrong, in the grand

Scheme of things.  However

If you insist on allowing who I am

To grind against the ideas

Of who you think I should be,

Then we have a problem.

If you cannot open the little box

Of what you think you believe

Even a little to me—or even to the idea

Of me—and yet you pray, worship

Something other than yourself

Something you believe

To be omniscient, perfect, and

The very origin and creator

Of infinite variety and love, then you

Are the walking (stumbling)

Incongruency.  You are

The one, whose box—

Whose cramped, little box

Of a life is closing off

Much needed light.

It is you who must work

To align the chimera of who you are

To the reality that is—

The reality where you

Are being led by incongruences

In sheep’s clothing.

 

 

 


 

 




Thank you for supporting my continued transition.  Yours, Radiance <3