[stylist] LGBTQ REVISITED
KajunCutie926 at aol.com
KajunCutie926 at aol.com
Thu Mar 27 18:24:33 UTC 2014
And I can but echo Jackie's comments, Bridgit... well done and I will have
jumping rope on my mind for the rest of the day at least. Well done, as
always!
Myrna
In a message dated 3/27/2014 1:05:17 P.M. Central Daylight Time,
jackieleepoet at cox.net writes:
Bridgit,
Your essay shows in great detail, the cruelty you endured throughout your
young years. I never imagined that a diabetic would be the target of such
bullying. You certainly demonstrate that it is not only reserved for the
sexually different.
Your writing, as always, shows your gift of making your life real to all of
us. I might mention that it has a poetic quality to it with internal rhyme
sprinkled throughout.
Also, it is the best description of jump-rope that I ever heard. It took me
way back, and until the cruelty, was a thrilling memory.
If your tenacity and ability to write, in some way, grew out of your tough
experiences, perhaps, in retrospect, it was worth it.
At least, now, you are a gift to all of us, showing us your writing
skills.
Jackie
-----Original Message-----
From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Bridgit
Pollpeter
Sent: Wednesday, March 26, 2014 9:37 PM
To: 'Writer's Division Mailing List'
Subject: Re: [stylist] LGBTQ REVISITED
Bill,
You're absolutely right. I'm posting my essay that was recently
published because it says better what I'm trying to say here. I've
copied and pasted several times, and the formatting keeps pasting weird,
so sorry about that.
Bridgit
Give a Cheer for all the Broken
Hold on. And you don't know what you're waiting for, but you don't want
to know more. Hold on.
>From Hold On by Good Charlotte
Slipping into the forgotten, hearing only the silence, too many seek the
solace of whispered graves. We see you, we know you, but ignorance is
our bliss as another percentage piles at our feet.
The band leads with a tune slightly off key. A melody with no harmony
begins the black parade.
Echoes of introspection radiate on faces of a studio audience as Madonna
speaks against bullying on TV. She shames with her speech about
acceptance.
I shutter remembering a face full of pain, hoping only for a friend. A
little girl, innocent and sweet, who braved school despite the mocking
jeers of classmates; her tear-stained face pops into my head. My memory
forges up the day I pricked her with a needle, and we laughed as tears
rimmed her eyes.
Cut my life into pieces
This is my last resort
Suffocation, No breathing
Don't give a fuck if I cut my arm bleeding
Do you even care if I die bleeding?
Acceptance means following the crowd. As a group, we don't feel the
sting of loneliness.
Eventually I stepped out of this role, but an isolation replaced
acceptance. I walked the halls and knew the cruelty of adolescence. The
pain of being different is not easy to bear.
The bell rang for recess, and Mrs. Petat's second-grade class came to
attention. Each child sat still, but our pent-up energy raced around our
features. A hushed frenzy waiting to explode.
We rushed in lines of order as our teacher released the class. The
barrel of balls and jump ropes emptied in a succinct fashion. Reaching
the door to the playground, our line of whispered buzzing erupted into
shouts and giggles as we stormed the yard.
Sarah tossed me the end of a long red jump rope, and we started the
ancient swing known to children world-round.
Laurie jumped in first as the chant began. Soon I rolled into a
well-oiled maneuver. The motion of the swing remained steady while
Laurie and I jumped in unison.
I jumped in and out never skipping a beat. We laughed and shouted as
each girl took her turn, and our chant mingled through the noisy
playground.
Laurie and Chandra replaced Sarah and I as we kept the motion, never
skipping a beat. Sarah and I danced to the back of the line, catching
our breath through bursts of giggles.
The rhythm of the chant reverberated through my body, tingling. My long
ponytail whipped around my body as I spun on my heel, ready to enter the
arching rope spinning round and round.
Giddiness prickled my skin as an effortless leap slid my skinny body
into the winding motion of the game. I smiled, but something had
changed. The chant was different.
"Di, di, di, Bridgit is diabetic-she is gonna' die-die-die."
I glanced at Laurie and Chandra still whipping the rope around. Their
faces concentrated on the task at hand, but their mouths wiggled with
escaped laughter through the chant.
"Di, di, di, Bridgit is diabetic-she is gonna' die-die-die."
My feet scratched against the cement jumping backwards out of the
motion. Facing the line of jumpers, their expressions seemed mocking.
The chant halted as kids around the playground pointed. A laugh
thundered through the yard. Tears nipped my eyes.
A group of boys corralled nearby, snickered. "The DIE-abetic's gonna'
cry."
My mouth opened, but words seemed like the enemy at the moment. Holding
my breath, trying not to cry, my feet trudged to the edge of the
playground. Leaning against the red brick of the school, my body took on
the stillness of the stone pricking my back.
A stony isolation left me at the edge, unsure how to find my way back.
Phoebe Prince understood isolation. She took it with her to the grave.
In high school, playground politics grow deadly.
A heart pierced with pain, Phoebe gasped for air.
Who knew being beautiful would cost you your life? Jealousy placed the
rope around your delicate neck.
Stylish clothes, popular pursuits, they do not bring immediate
inclusion. We spent years perfecting the art of judgment and acceptance;
now we wonder why bullying has grown, too big to be contained.
E's Fashion Police blares on the TV. I laugh as Joan Rivers mocks the
latest attempt of Milie Cyrus to fit in. Joan's biting commentary dare
anyone to face the world in any garb other than the accepted mode as
prescribed by an elite few.
Every day is so wonderful
Then suddenly, it's hard to breathe
Now and then, I get insecure
>From all the pain, I'm so ashamed
We breathe in acceptance and breathe out cruelty. The pumping of our
pulse leaps with joy to mock.
Cut- cut down- cut it out- cut to bleed, to feel.
When you grow up,
will you be the savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned?
Will you defeat them,
Your demons, and all the non-believers
The plans that they have made?
Matthew Shepard understood isolation. By birth, he fell to this earth,
contaminated with isolation.
Dreams and hopes filled Matthew's mind, but the intolerance stifled his
voice. Shameful and wicked, that is what they told you.
A boy, shameful and wicked, not fit for this world. Shameful and wicked
shadowed your every move. Shameful and wicked, your existence was
disgusting-you must go.
Was it goodness and purity that stranded you, tied naked to a fence
pole?
They took your light allowing ignorance to guide.
I wear purple today in recognition of Stop Bullying Gays day. Purple
sweater, purple boots, purple jewelry.
God did not create people only to have them destroyed by hate.
Who are precious in His sight? Love thy neighbor, turn the other cheek
and hate the gays. This is the message spread to the ends of the earth.
Molded, shaped and formed, our concepts of Adam and Eve are constructed
out of rigid, immoveable material.
Life it seems, will fade away
Drifting further every day
Getting lost within myself
Nothing matters, no one else
I have lost the will to live
Simply nothing more to give
There is nothing more for me
I need the end to set me free
Curled up in a corner on my bed, I sobbed, my head resting on my knees.
Screams hovered in my throat. No one to talk to, to cleanse the poison
from my soul.
Swollen eyes searched my room for any remnant of hope. I wanted
something to tie me to this world, an anchor that made me one of them.
Happiness seemed easy for some. Inclusion was my goal, to be normal. Too
much weighed me down; these jagged thoughts pierced me to the ground,
unable to join the world.
Cruel words piled up like dirt. Slut, whore, tramp-- it did not matter
that I was a virgin; the gospel of rumors is truth.
Pink-handled scissors whispered tantalizing possibilities. Suffocating,
unable to move, death was inviting. Escaping this enclosure was the
relief I sought.
Consumed by emptiness, you sought a final solitude. Unaware of the
future, you saw only today. Unable to dry the flow of tears, you stopped
the flow of blood. Your enemy's words were endless, but you deafened the
sound with a blow.
The television guides us as Chelsea Handler spews comments searing like
acid. Derisive laughter accompanies the jokes made at the expense of
others.
We are taught to mock, caring only for our pleasure. We have learned
well-grasshoppers , now go forth and spread this message of hate to all
who will listen.
With the lights out, it's less dangerous
Here we are now, entertain us
I feel stupid and contagious
Here we are now, entertain us
I turn the TV off in disgust. I feel heavy with the guilt of the
countless souls I heaped more pain on to. My own past misery, a shared
experience, has taught me nothing.
The guys living upstairs sat on their balcony, one crying, one
consoling.
Giggles escaped me as I strained to hear what absurdity made a grown man
cry into his beer.
"What a wuss," I said.
"It's not funny," Ross, my husband, said.
I turned around to stare at him. "Are you serious?"
"You don't know what's wrong, it could be serious."
"He's crying like a drunken baby." I giggled again.
"That's really insensitive. I've been there."
My giggles cut short. "Like I don't know hurt and pain?"
"You're the one laughing." He walked away.
I wish you would step back from that ledge, my friend
You could cut ties with all the lies, that you've been living in
And if you do not want to see me again
I would understand
These are the thoughts I ponder. I still fight to accept myself,
thrashing my spirit about, but I can no longer live among my own
intolerance.
Ripped to tattered pieces, many find no solace. The pain of difference
cost much, and many run dry trying to balance the debt.
Hushed for now, wipe the stains from your eyes. Flesh broken and
bruised, but alive just the same. Sticks and stones will break my bones,
and words will lead to the grave.
Hands will lift you. Rest, but only rest. Walk in the light breaking
free of the shadows. Blessed are those who undo the ties that bind.
I'm beautiful in my way
'Cause God makes no mistakes
I'm on the right track, Baby
I was born this way
-----Original Message-----
From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of William L
Houts
Sent: Wednesday, March 26, 2014 1:38 PM
To: stylist at nfbnet.org
Subject: Re: [stylist] LGBTQ REVISITED
HI Bridgit,
I understand what you're saying, and in general, I think it's a solid,
useful dictum: never suppose that you need to justify yourself to
others. We're all equals, whatever our differences. But when you're
gay, you have to pass through trials which healthy heterosexuals don't
even think about because heterosexuality is the expected --some would
say demanded-- standard. But those of us who came of age thirty years
ago have had to work out basic issues of self-worth and self-respect
just to win our place under the sun. I think it's different for gay
kids growing up now; in many or most cases they're simply not brutalized
for being who they are. This isn't universally true. Ignorant, brutal
parents still consign their gay children to "ex-gay" ministeries in
order to "pray away the gay". Schoolyard bullies and bullies of all
kinds still torment young gay and lesbian folk for being who they are,
and sometimes they do more than simply torment them. Straight people,
even very kind and well-meaning straight people, don't have this
experience and consequently don'understand why gay people sometimes have
to take a noisy stand about who they are. It shouldn't be that way, and
it shouldn't be that way, and it shouldn't be that way. Yet in the
office and in the schoolyard and in the parking lot it IS that way, and
gay people have to fight that war just to stay alive, just to live their
own lives with dignity and self-respect.
--Bill
On 3/25/2014 12:51 PM, Bridgit Pollpeter wrote:
> And perhaps this is an ignorant heterosexual talking, but the way I
> see it is that no one expects straight people to constantly identify
> our sexual orientation, so why gays and bi's and transgender? I think
> a part of equality and inclusion means accepting people as whole
> beings regardless of sexual orientation. Identifying or being
> identified by sexual orientation is the same as being identified by
> disability or hair color or music interest etc. It's just one part of
> a person.
>
> Bridgit
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of William
> L Houts
> Sent: Monday, March 24, 2014 11:38 PM
> To: stylist at nfbnet.org
> Subject: Re: [stylist] LGBTQ REVISITED
>
>
>
>
> HI Katie,
>
> I cheerfully identify as gay, though my reality is a little more
> complicated. For various reasons, I no longer go to bars or
> participate
>
> in gay culture in that way. It's all fine, clubs, bars, parades, the
> whole thing. But to my friends and family, I feel myself to be
> "postgay", which is how I identify myself on the rare occasions the
> subject comes up. Postgay isn't nearly the same thing as "ex-gay",
> which is false and noxious. Postgay, as I understand the word, means
> that yes, yes, I love men, and in general take a relaxed view of
> sexuality. I'm just not very interested in making a big issue of it.
> I
>
> love all of our gay heroes, our Oscar Wilde, our Harvey Milk, our name
> your poison. But I don't go out of my way to make gay jokes, to
> frequent
>
> gay owned establishments, or to attend gay-themed parties. You're
> welcome to go, and I'll be glad to hear about it when you come home.
> As
>
> for me, well, I'm working on a sestina tonight.
>
>
>
> --Bill
>
>
>
>
>
>
> On 3/24/2014 9:22 PM, kec92 at ourlink.net wrote:
>>
>>
>> Hi all,
>>
>> I am still writing the play about the bisexual transgender male. I
>> would just like to update on some of the issues that I have read
>> about and talking to lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer, and
>> Questioning
>> (LGBTQQ) peoples. One of the issues that I have read about is that
> many
>> of the characters that are seen on movies that are acting as LGBTQQ
> are
>> mostly heteorsexual and cisgender (people whose gender idenity and
>> assigned sex match), play LGBTQQ characters. There has been some
>> controversy in the LGBTQQ community where they want people who
> actually
>> identify as LGBTQQ.
>>
>> Another issue that I would like to bring up is the inclusion of
>> people with disabilities who also identify as LGBTQQ wanting
>> inclusion as well. Even within the LGBTQQ community, there is still
>> discrimination and bias.
>>
>> Thanks,
>>
>> Katie
>>
>> On 24.03.2014 20:23, Bridgit Pollpeter wrote:
>>
>>> Jackie,
>>>
>>> The movie is Tu Wong Fu: To Julie Newmar, with Love, starring
>>> Patrick Swayze, and yes, it was a funny but heart-felt movie. It was
>>> made in the mid-90's.
>>>
>>> Bridgit
>>>
>>> -----Original Message-----
>>> From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of
>>> Jackie Williams
>>> Sent: Monday, March 24, 2014 7:42 PM
>>> To: stylist at nfbnet.org
>>> Subject: [stylist] LGBTQ REVISITED
>>>
>>> I AM STILL REVISITING ALL THE E-MAILS I MISSED. Well, I enclosed my
>>> few about spiders. I have had a hard time remembering the meanings
>>> of all these letters, but I have one or two poems that might nibble
>>> on the edges. I have known many gay men, some fellow teachers, two
>>> of whom adopted. Quite amazing for Arizona. Better parents I never
>>> knew. I also found that my Great Aunt Dora, a heroine of mine
>>> throughout my life, left a letter when she died asking that her
>>> headstone be placed next to another woman's headstone, and a tender
>>> letter was enclosed. A very attractive woman, she refused offers of
>>> marriage, and became the Librarian at Upper Iowa University. When
>>> she retired after fifty years, an old beau asked her again, and she
>>> again refused. Years after this mystery, an answer. Then, some years
>>> ago, I saw a movie with a Chinese title about a drag queen. It
>>> starred the dancer who also starred in ghost, and it was hilarious.
>>> I also visited a friend in San Francisco, and went first to a place
>>> to eat and see the belly dancers. Then we went next door and saw
>>> endless men in drag. I had to write about a man with a mother that
>>> could be me, and his wife and child who could be my daughter-in-law.
>>> Other than my imagination, I don't have a lot of knowledge, except
>>> my scientific-based beliefs, that is most developments take place in
>>> the womb, and sometimes are highly influenced also by environments
>>> that cannot help but magnify or turn the tide to an already genetic
>>> pattern. Now that I think of it, I have three poems that touch in
>>> some way on one or another of these "letters." I suggest that you
>>> read this first line by line, and spell out the few words that are
>>> not phonetic, then read it a second time with insert, down arrow. It
>>> is long, 73 lines. I submitted it to Georgia for several years,
>>> since I understood it to be the drag queen capitol of the U.S., but
>>> it must have offended someone to claim it as part of their history.
>>> It is a marathon of rhyming, and if you do not hear it, the format
>>> has not remained true. Category 4 Jacqueline Williams Expressing
>>> Beliefs In All Ways 1431 W. 7th Place
>>>
>>> Mesa, AZ 85201
>>>
>>> 480-834-1782
>>>
>>> The Evolution of a Drag Queen
>>>
>>> "My Mother, nothing comes to mind
>>> to extricate me from my bind."
>>> Athletic honors, throwing shot
>>> and javelin were surely not
>>> the skills that now will make up for
>>> a youth I wasted. I foreswore
>>> the effort facing learning times,
>>> realities and saving dimes.
>>> All those awards led me astray
>>> until too late, though I must say
>>> the medals for my breaststroke swims
>>> left me big "pecs" and long strong limbs.
>>> I had a decent resume
>>> before I lost my job. Foul play
>>> robbed goals set by my love and me
>>> for newborn son, cast them asea.
>>>
>>> "My son, I'll think about it soon."
>>> So often, Mom, I've heard this tune.
>>> You'll wear your gowns and gaudy rings
>>> to hifalutin social things.
>>> Oh, wait, my quite majestic mom,
>>> so tall, so buxom, such aplomb.
>>> Ideas brew-a rushing tide.
>>> I'll find a conquest for my bride.
>>>
>>> You gone, your spikes upon my feet,
>>> I walk and fall and still repeat
>>> a practice that becomes my code,
>>> a perfect imagery, the mode.
>>> I've got the walk, now what to do
>>> to make the perfect witch's brew
>>> that causes me to light the flame?
>>> Please bring me soon to newborn fame.
>>>
>>> My wife's peach-pink scant underpants
>>> inspire an undulating dance.
>>> While she, adored, earns great big bucks,
>>> I hold the bottle my son sucks.
>>> As "Mister Mom," I take him here
>>> and there and now it's everywhere.
>>> The beauty parlor-such a place!
>>> He always grins his funny face.
>>> We hang out as a winsome pair.
>>> The ladies think us both quite fair.
>>> As one beautician holds him tight,
>>> another makes my eyes shine bright.
>>> Eye shadow, glitter, wigs all glow.
>>> My heart beats fast. My wife will know
>>> the depth of love I feel for her.
>>> Oh, dear, my makeup must not blur.
>>> I slowly roll my thigh-highs up-
>>> the jet-black net-oh, quite corrupt.
>>>
>>> My mom and wife will meet for dinner.
>>> I pray that they will see a winner.
>>> Mother, son and dearest one
>>> arrive all laughing, full of fun-
>>> awash in new-felt wonderments
>>> at rainbow fans on fundaments.
>>> They do not know I'm here, you see,
>>> cast eyes at entrance doors. Oh me.
>>>
>>> The drum roll comes and I sashay
>>> the runway, not one hair astray.
>>> Bestowing smiles on all alike-
>>> arched eyebrows, winks, I pass my tyke
>>> with arms outstretched and then he knows
>>> his "Mommy" right down to my toes.
>>>
>>> And now when all is said and done,
>>> with kudos to my lovely one,
>>> she must compete with all those droves
>>> who bring me gifts and treasure troves
>>> of drag queens-past and present tense.
>>> I hope that I'll maintain the sense
>>> to build a future-one to see-
>>> that's free of fear and bigotry.
>>>
>>> _______________________________________________
>>> Writers Division web site
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>>
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>> m
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>> [4]
>>
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> et
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--
"Let's drink a toast now to who we really are."
--Jane Siberry
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