Queer and Alive

He saved my life, ya know? Not like there would be no me without him but I would have stayed where death already knew my name and I was only a eulogy in wait. Now I guess we all are working our ways to the grave, but back then mine was dug and all I had to do was lay down. And I almost did. Like, I tried to not break open, break up, break at all. I was statuesque, a mannequin in the mirror trying to reject my humanness. Until him. Until I said help me and he said okay. He said hold on. He said there is nothing wrong with you, they just don’t know how to love you right. Keep going, kid.
And I did.
Furious that life wanted me back, I raged, working my way towards my own horizon with a necessary attentiveness that could only be reserved for everything. This is to say I noticed how I chose to survive. I chose survival. I chose what I could and who's to say I did it wrong? All I know is day by day by day by day I refused to sever self and I'm here. Because of him. Because of me. Because I don’t know and I have yet to find out. And I’m thinking maybe this matters. Living life aloud, I mean. Like someday I will be him and someone will pick up these words, this offering, and be fed. Will keep breathing. Will become an ancestor themselves because they saw me queer and living and thought maybe they could too.