No Longer Chosen -- FAMILY

If one more gaggle of queers informs me of their farm, polycule, cooperative living plans – I will scream. I will scream out of desire and exhaustion.

I will scream and pull my ¼ centimeter hair out.

Because for real, for real – that’s my wet dream. And it has been for as long as collectivism has taken root in my heart. Encouraging my belief in pimping the system and finding a path forward together.

I can’t make it through a day without a homo or tranny explaining the importance of community or saying “in these times” or “given the political climate.” I understand the sentiment but also side eye at the (often) class-stable, mostly resourced human in front of me.

Our dreams outweigh our skills – by a long shot.

We need systems.

We need networks of care.

Humans to rely on –

I notice the ever increasing stakes are not improving the results.

In the delicious but small town I live in, I have seen so many ruptures and break-ups.

I don’t ask myself if I will be cancelled but when. By a rolodex of humans who say fuck12 and then police each other instead. For fun – for shits and giggles.

I have watched as lovers and besties become humans to ignore at the watering hole. How basic conversations or the word NO are replaced with earth shattering parasocial conflict amplified by social networks.

It terrifies me. How easy it is to make oneself over in a night. To surrender love to the drain, pack one’s things and carry on.

How love can be so all consuming on Monday and yet unimportant to maintain come the weekend.

I am the black cloud at the function asking:

Hey do you want to talk about queer community rupture?

Have you been betrayed?

Why do you think it's like this here?

Is it like this everywhere?

I pray it's not like this everywhere.

Please let there be homos somewhere who spend less time in conflict and more time in pleasure. More time resting. More time resisting the shit that’s deserving of resistance instead of each other.

Queer folks aren’t special in their rupturing – but I do find it more haunting.

How many intersections can we share and we still can’t get along? Can’t make eye contact. When what’s actually vital is dropping off a meal because the homie got sick again –

In 2023, the nonprofit JUST LIKE US from the UK found that 46% of LGBTQ+ young adults are estranged from at least one family member.

I, thank God, am no longer a young adult but the shitty statistic still applies. We need family. Or rather – we need people who communicate and show up when shit gets weird.

And I doubt it will get less weird from here.

I fear the word family at this point.

I have been in numerous relationships where the word was thrown around with pie in the sky plans to build the commune. To purchase goats and chickens and bunnies.

Family — this six letter dirty word that I could have sworn I understood. But now, I back away slowly adopting less charged words like comrades and acquaintances.

I pray for a queer love that is resilient and extends past clout.

I pray for a queer love that will shroud my beloveds through chronic illness.

I pray for the skills I need to live in a small town, love, have my heart broke open and see it as a good thing. As a life well loved.

I have no answers, only heartache and hope.

—

This post is dedicated to Allison Kenny and Lynn Johnson.

Thank you feeding me and sitting with me during heartbreak.

If only we each had Als and Lynns to have dinner with – to grieve and celebrate.