DYV / You Raise Me Up

Quietly, stealthily, he found his own voice

by uncovering his vices

which – no way, in the end – were vices at all:

and in finding his own voice,

and loving his not-vices, he uncovered the core

which had always been there: just dis-

tracted by almighty commands from on high:

from family far and c-

lose; and he’d already begun to [loo-

{sen]-

ding} them packing in the nicest way poss:

able – was he now! – to determine the good,

to discover his voice: to make it public,

to make it out there,

to make what was rare as common as

sense,

and sensibility’s wares would now command

the [diff-

error-

seen] – made, done and hewed curiously

as he did.

And the toys he would occasionally throw

out of his pram were toys he needed

to care for far more; and so others could help,

and others might help,

and one day these others might also

understand: he was no stranger to

im-

pulse, but then that’s what made him beat:

what made the heart at his core

love and sex and meet each person

he met and sexed and loved

on their terms, not his;

in their frame,

not another’s.

And starting from scratch was so

bloody damn difficult,

but in discovering his voice

he realised it was key

to be-

ing together,

and whole,

and be-

ing loved.

That was his way:

he just needed support.

And love and hugs and

considerable embraces.

 

 

And sex, and the play of

fully formed woman.

Because now it was clear:

after many a year,

after so long a time,

he was finally a man.

 

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