No one spoke of the beautiful boys
But you did while others kindly whispered
Ugly words that made me shiver
And unkindly delivered my esteem hung on a branch.
I grew deaf to beautiful words
Because I believed that they were lies
The lids on my eyes remained closed
Because I wanted no one to know
Just how often I wanted to die.

No one ever speaks of the beautiful boys,
Ones that move as fancy unfolds
And a graceful stroll
On blood stained concrete,
The boys that made flowers grow
Even in December.
But you remembered our beautiful traits
When the beautiful world just couldn’t wait
To label us the “the tainted ones”
Who painted suns
On bedroom walls to light the nights
When our beautiful bodies were used
For a monster’s delight.
No one teaches beautiful boys
How to fight,
So we never spoke of molestation
But you did.
You looked me in my beautiful eyes and stayed
And said “I believe you. We will be okay”
Reminded me that other boys who understand
The violation of human hands.

I used to let these secrets mold the man
That got scared whenever the lights were dimmed
I smoked the beautiful green earth to forget about him
But you knew and you exhaled
You knew in detail the rhythmic dance
Of feeling ugly, dumb and fat
But you held my body and not for pleasure
And I felt the beauty of peace forever,
You made it better
Because you cried when I cried
The monster beneath my bed finally died
You took my beautiful hands
And we walked across the beautiful sky
Of mercy bound
And our feet never touched the ground
We floated and I noted the clouds we touched
As we roamed
I didn’t realize just how close I was to home
And the beautiful sights I could behold
No one told the beautiful boys that they were
But you did.
You still do.
You still say “I believe you.”
I know of beautiful truths
And beautiful boys because of you
You are the proof because you give
A space and place where the beautiful boy
Can go to live
And we thank you.

a few days ago, i posted this picture. the response i have received has not just been amazingly supportive but it has helped make the little boy inside of me who still struggles with his body in the dark, feel heard.

since then, i have received tons of messages from other men sharing their stories and experiences with sexual abuse. words cannot described how humbled i am that strangers from all over trusted me enough to share something that, for some, requires every bit of courage our bodies can conjure up.

this poem is for us. for those of us who told. and for those of us who didn’t. i believe you.

(A poem for Latino Heritage Month)

I wonder what it was like
when my ancestors prayed:
amid the chorus
of the misty rainforest
to the lonely god
on the cloudy mountain peak.
I wonder what it was like
on the sands of the beach
where they prayed to the sea:
its waves coming and going endlessly-
the same waves
breaking against my stomach
as I wade into the
sea of time
filling my palms with salty water
murmuring mantras
an offering for the Sun
an offering for the sages and
an offering for those same ancestors who
stood where I stand,
swam where I swim.
I let the water
seep through my hands
time flows like water
a current like
the warm blood flowing in me
carrying the spirits of countless mothers and fathers |

My family feels as if
I have turned my back on my history
trading as it were
the church for the mandir,
Spanish for Sanskrit.
but I know my ancestors
reject neither the water I offer
nor the rice I feed them.
my blood is their blood,
the sea their god and mine also ||

_______________________________________________________________________

Yagnaram Ramanuja Dasan is a queer, Latino Hindu blogger. He studies at Temple University, where he is earning a BA in Religion. He is also in the process of becoming a Hindu priest. He is the founder of LGBT Hindu Satsang, an affirming worship space for LGBT-identified Hindus. He blogs at his personal website, Jnana-dipena.

Raised in a Roman Catholic household, he later converted to Hinduism in high school after reading the Bhagavad Gita for the first time and finding an immense amount of spiritual fulfillment in it. Due to his religious conversion and coming out as queer, he has felt at odds at times with members of his own family. He struggled to find a place where he truly belonged, never really seeing himself represented anywhere. Through writing, traveling, networking, and finding his voice, he has managed to build a family of his own that celebrates all the various parts of his identity.

When he is not in school or doing work with the Satsang, you can catch him taking photos, going on meditation walks, or making a batch of tostones.

You can follow Yagna here:
on his blog: jnanadipena.wordpress.com
on Twitter: @YRD108
on FB: facebook.com/YRD108
on Tumblr: yrd108.tumblr.com

break this poem

break this poem in two,

leave half for me

take half for you,

break this poem as please

bit by bit, piece by piece,

feed this poem

and declare a bountiful feast,

break it against chains

and prison cells,

break it against bodies bruised

with skin scars that never tell,

mask it on eyes that hide

until something from the sky arrives,

break it against feet

that are battered and tired,

break it against minds and hearts

that yearn for the burn of fire,

break it till it inspires

and gives us wings to understand

break this poem,

take this poem as means into your hands.

break this poem

break it and divide it

onto everyone you see,

take some for you

leave some for me,

break-in case of emergency,

light in on highways

to guide ways of urgency,

break it against the universe

strike it across the night,

tear it apart and use it as a shield

should the battlefield need you to fight,

break it like wood

and light dark places,

bang it against the ground

to find the traces,

left by deaths and breaths

of ancestors never found,

break it, i say.

break this poem!

louie a. ortiz