Hate me because I am an easy kind,
And hate me because I’m queer,
I will hate you with the ease of me,
Unblemished in the shape of this moment,

We are deeper by far than platitudes,
I used to stand wild in front of you,
To take the force of the coming blow
But I let that violence go untransformed –

I let hope and despair make me empty,
Like the page, like a wish, like a prayer,
A possession to be claimed justly,
By hungry beggars and smiling thieves.

I chose to run away rather than
Explain all the ways you put me last,
As I waited and I waited and waited,
I let you bury me alive with hope.

Burning fantasies become empires of dirt,
Where once I planted Eden’s seeds.
I let myself fall with the sinners,
Out of love and deeper into this mess.

And where once I sowed seeds of love,
Hate grew stronger without me,
The conquering darkness grew around the lie,
That light itself was sufficient.

Then I broke – with Emily’s words,
I am not “honour’s martyr”, rather I am honoured,
And then I broke with Maud’s words,
For my love’s aim was wild and loose.

In my broken world under blinding sun,
My garden dreams of tomorrow wilted,
And there was nought I could change,
Except myself – so accused of being.

I could never betray my beating heart,
That is the timeless heroine’s way –
My destiny then is to be betrayed by love,
And to remain, out of love, with power.

Choosing from the ground these effects,
From which a heroine must learn to be.
Poetess, lover, warrior, survivor, friend,
For which honour should I sacrifice myself?

The emptiness of choice leaves me stranded
For whom if not myself, journeys the hero?
I must make my stand here, in the centre,
Unloved, unwept, unknown, and unnamed.

I have not a thousand faces, but one mirror,
And I am already through that looking glass.
Through the silver city of angels –
Sitting upon the empty throne of tomorrow.

A phantom, a ghost bending in the wind,
Unable to keep herself on way or another,
Bringing her mirror to where it is needed,
And giving fairy light to the darkest night.

A heroine then with one face, that of time,
Who wearies heroes and harkens woe.
A thousand fanciful dreams but one dreamer,
And no hero or quest is greater than hers.

But I… who would charge thee with splendour,
I would see you climb that mountain –
Knowing that I can give more to those girls,
Than I could ever carry up that mountain alone.