To the 'atypical ' Kings and Queens

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gay pride
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Around 30,000 people participated for the Gay Pride march organized by the Inter-LGBT on 26 June 2021. The gay pride march started in the suburbs, in Pantin (Seine-Saint-Denis) for the first time since 1977.

Hi everyone, I hope the wonderful creatues that you are are doing great in these special times. First of, I wanted to congratulate every one of you for stepping forward in 2021 and wanted to ask for you to be patient and hold on to this little light at the end of the tunnel. 

As for today's article, this one will touch a more personnal side of my life but that's worth sharing. Indeed, today I will expose one of my writings surrounding what followed my, what is commonly referred to as "coming out" let's say. 

(my pronouns are He/him )

Since I was a child, the imagery of a norm surrouding love seemed foolish for me. For me as we encounter feelings for our friends (boys and girls) it appared natural for an indivdual to be in love with a boy or girl and not as the archetypal view which dictates that  boys love girls only and girls must love boys only. To be honest, until I was about 6 years old, my biggest "crush" was the character of Peter Pan, as in his personality and feelings I felt completness and similarities with mine.

When I hit puberty, this love sentiment was restricted even more as my sexual attraction was oriented towards the more boyish side and by 13 I identified as being  gay. Such a feeling would always end up being discarded or shunned for the least, due to several bullying acts that got physical and very violent.  

My parents are very conservative and for interpretative reasons they've painted an idea surrounding the LGBTQIA+ community that is filled with ignorance and often negelcted the real definitions guiding the lines of identiifying as part of LGBTQIA+ indivduals, which often lead to unrespectful comments. Hence I convinced myself that my identity was wrong and that I should be ashamed of such identification.

I tried, I really did, I got myself into eating less and less and clinacly was diagnozed with the "anorexia" eating disorder, to lower my libido and hence not have to feel any sexual sentiment at all. 

However in november 2020, I attempted coming out to my parents through a really discrete way, but as a matter of fact their reaction was agonising and somehow violent and to this day the communcation between us didn't remain the same.

Through this text, I hope succeeding attesting and manifesting of a certain hommage and support  to all the kids or humans out there brought to be ashamed of the most pure and intuitve part in them, their identity... You are who you are and no one should ever let you doubt about the normality and bauty of yours. 

(...)

"A flying dove is carrying an olive branch and a rainbow-colored flag. Flying accross the skies of  cold evening, the white peaceful bird sees this wide-open window and approaches it.

Upon an end, nature, living and growing, is heading . Whispered beneath, the shallows of a joyful crowd are being delved onto. Wind blows away what summer has made, convey of change .

I can see the blueish tones of the vanishing ether, the last ray of a fervent day. A  sarrow brought to the living soul of a human . 3 letters they were,  but sadly 3 tears  they brought .

If in the old juncture, time was reckless, autumn comes up as a hustle, and time becomes promptly a constraint.

Living alone, with a mother. Company being brought by the image of the seventies freedom  land, the founded hope flew therefore away.

The talk of today’s generation against the innocence of the young forbidden love... Too dumb to see, eyes were seeking for skies of acceptance but the heart was burried down to ground .

Past was conjugated to the future, mundanity is as such brought back to the mores. Promptly the loving of one’s was death before even existing .

3 letters, 3 scars that will never go away. From the point of view of a physiocratic norm , one might have to make his surrounding empty .

Frozen smiles convey of fixed cries and awareness ahead the road of separation and dispear. A promess that once said : “ love lasts forever” , was threatened by the thrown stone of hatred of difference  .

Nonplussed, I questioned and wondered the if’s and why’s of such shunning strange attitudes .

Is it by uniqueness, astonishment or perhaps self non-acceptance, embracing the founding of one’s was as such inhibeted.

What have I done to the ten verses of the sacred genesis of some believes …. Wasn’t I a good one by following wisdom and feelings .

Am I …. Rather are we …. And for some of them are those the blasphemy of the obstructive reality.

Atypical isn’t it ?

Blues …. Cold shaded bruises, marks of a tortured soul and perhaps a riot of hate, the pretentious absolute truth seems to be twisted and in a more deviant manner, corrupted .

3 letters they were but 3 tears they brought .

As a child I used to give a profound delicacy to the art of scrutiny and acknowledgement, the spector of growing  rather than learning. I used to be part of those who gave faith and shared with the dearest …. I was said to be loved and perhaps even adored, never would I ever have thought how candid my belief of such was . Love … a profane …  A traitor that couldn’t care less.

To the first sparkle of love, to the butterflies brought to the mind of the young wounded child,  how dare you? …. Is it you or is it them… what is it about them and their burned Bourbon and Bonnie.

Odds in the skies, the said to be Humankind, promptly depicts the imagery of a world once told to be cruel.

Soft air, lilial patterning light, auras seemed lighter around him…. Chase it , hide it and refrain it  they would say…. But Handsome and bright, he was; and taking care of the shattered heart of the young boy he would … They replied, and yet still hurt the morals of the young boy and his object of appearance. Hit him once , he cries , hit him twice he resists , hit him too hard , he died .

The seemingly good acts of ones, are foolish sayings in the wind and the atrocious neglecting of the boy’s bearers is agonizing hatred and unwillingness.

They would say , under the white vail of a boyish love, devils have traiced the schemes of the clothing laces .

May I say then, that beneath close doors the destruction of the same boy, have its way down to fires drawn already.

They closed all doors for partnership projects so that the two lovers wouldn’t be sharing an approved linkage .

Sad truth being, some of them would imprison the lovers...  with bloodied hands the same young boy is being oppressed and threaten and of suffering he was promised,  to fake the beating heart of his, at the sight of his lover.

Shipwrecked of the funereal night, which in the holy twilight so damned made open the horizons, could I, to you, tell one of its after-effects.

O Sea Air, if with a last breath you made exaltation of mortal morbidity, fatal was the trick played and of clear-obscure shades, the pain was accompanied. To face a death without limit in the moment, to arbor anguishing translucence and to pose one, several disorders in the thought.

What to become when love is brought to be ignored and seen as the favorite crime pf some?

A morphism of the psyche, raises a line or two, and immediately presents the relentless holding to this form of happiness, yet so volatile. A look at an ideal, the granting of his smile would seem to soothe pain and transmute the present into a more nihilistic semantics. Sadely he was there no more.

If in the daytime, the spring dew was the bearer of so much adoration, these shades of nasturtium-golden button truculence were berlue and fantasy in the evening. A synaesthesia of free will reveals the blasphemy of the most natural of the rights of being, the inalienable propriety of its own emanation: the tolerance to love the ones your heart chose . 

To the white dove sitting in the corner besides my window, may I ask for you to raise an hymn, an hymn to love... May it be possible, to see a bright day, where one could walk with the chosen of his heart, hold hands, pick a daisy or two, and kiss under the lilacs suburbing the alleys of Montmartre, without the fear of getting crucified for one's own person and identity."

(...)

I wanted to take a brief moment and raise awereness surrounding the violence targeted to the members of the LGBTQIA+, it is unconcievable to continue portraying a pattern of such behavors and it is time to stop. From beaten up gay kids, to ignored transgender individuals, these monstrosities keep hapening. For instance, the despicable murder of a 20-year-old gay man in Iran highlights how the criminalisation of consensual same-sex behaviour and gender non-conformity perpetuates systemic violence and discrimination against lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and intersex people.

To Alireza Fazeli Monfared, Samuel, both killed for being gay, my condelescences .... To the precursors that fought for a certain acceptance .... To all those who deal with actual difficulties to embrace themselves, to the unfairly treated LGBTQIA+ people, you are beautiful human beings and you are strong. Keep raising your voice, you're building the path for an easier tomorrow for the upcomming generations and you'll be remebered.

On that note, a little late, be proud of yourself and happy pride month .

(Please stay safe, keep following the hygiene guidelines and get vaccinated as soon as possible( if possible ), it's the only way to move forward and end with this pandemic ).

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Elyès Ayadi
Happy pride month ! 🏳️‍🌈
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Switzerland