A Moment Of Your Time, Please...

I have a cousin. His name is Dakota. His name hasn’t always been Dakota, but he’s always been a boy. A guy. A male.

Some people didn’t know that though – and once upon a time I was one of those people.

Let me tell you something about my cousin. He’s about nine years younger than me, and from the ages of twelve to sixteen I would carry him virtually everywhere. Up the stairs, in case he fell. Down the stairs, in case he tripped. From the car to the house. The house to the car. We didn’t live near each other, but when we were together, he was always in my arms.

I loved the feeling of being needed by a small human. It was incredible to me, and I’ve lived my twenty-six years remembering how good it felt that he wanted me to be the one to cart him around, that he trusted me to take care of him.

Let me tell you something else about my cousin. He’s so goddamn strong that sometimes it breaks my heart a little. He’s told me before that he’s always felt different, always known he wasn’t like other kids his age, even when he was a tiny person being carried around on my back.

When we were both a little older, and I could no longer swing him around in a circle by his little hands, he told me he was gay. And then he started crying. And then I did too – for different reasons. My cousin is a wonderful person, full of light, full of laughter, full of hope – but at the time, he couldn’t see that. At the time all he could see was that he looked different from the other boys and felt different than all the girls. He told me he hated himself and I thought I would die from the pain of hearing that. I hugged him a lot. I told him he was beautiful a lot. I repeated it so often I’m sure he got sick of hearing it, but I meant it then, and I still mean it now.

It was a couple of years later when he told me he was Transgender. I bought him a binder and told him, again, that he’s beautiful. I changed his name in my phone the minute he shared it with me. It wasn’t hard for me to let go of the name he grew up with, because I remember how uncomfortable he was as that person. I want my cousin to love himself as much as I do, and I love him for who he is inside, and not for the body he inhabits.

Dakota has grown so much in his lifetime and I’m so incredibly, immensely proud of all he’s accomplished. Learning to love yourself is hard – especially when you live in a world that doesn’t accept you or treats you as a second-class citizen for the way you were born. I sometimes think about what would have happened to him if he’d been born into a different family. A family that fought him instead of embraced him, one that suppressed him instead of accepting him. There are a lot of kids out there exactly like my cousin, only they had the misfortune to be born to people who should never have had kids to begin with. Because if you can’t love and accept an LGBTQ child, you shouldn’t be reproducing. End of story.

You’re probably wondering why I’m writing about Dakota today. It’s simple; I’m asking for a little help. My cousin is growing, and I’d like to think he’s learning to love and appreciate the person he is – but I know for a fact that he’d be a million times happier if he could afford to get top surgery. He started hormone therapy right after his high school graduation and you can already tell a difference in how much more comfortable and confident he is as a man. But I want him to be all the way there. And if I could pay for his surgery myself I would in a heartbeat. But I have student debts out the ying-yang, so unfortunately, all the monetary help I can give him is minimal. Please, please, please, if anyone has a dollar or two to spare, I would dearly appreciate if you could find it in your heart to donate to my cousin’s surgery. Every little bit helps! He deserves to live in a body that he loves.

Thank you for hearing me out. And if you can’t donate, please share Dakota’s story so it can reach and help as many people as possible.

Thank you so much!

Kayla

Click here to donate to Dakota!

https://www.gofundme.com/dakotakhagenson

A Moment Of Your Time, Please...

I have a cousin. His name is Dakota. His name hasn’t always been Dakota, but he’s always been a boy. A guy. A male.

Some people didn’t know that though – and once upon a time I was one of those people.

Let me tell you something about my cousin. He’s about nine years younger than me, and from the ages of twelve to sixteen I would carry him virtually everywhere. Up the stairs, in case he fell. Down the stairs, in case he tripped. From the car to the house. The house to the car. We didn’t live near each other, but when we were together, he was always in my arms.

I loved the feeling of being needed by a small human. It was incredible to me, and I’ve lived my twenty-six years remembering how good it felt that he wanted me to be the one to cart him around, that he trusted me to take care of him.

Let me tell you something else about my cousin. He’s so goddamn strong that sometimes it breaks my heart a little. He’s told me before that he’s always felt different, always known he wasn’t like other kids his age, even when he was a tiny person being carried around on my back.

When we were both a little older, and I could no longer swing him around in a circle by his little hands, he told me he was gay. And then he started crying. And then I did too – for different reasons. My cousin is a wonderful person, full of light, full of laughter, full of hope – but at the time, he couldn’t see that. At the time all he could see was that he looked different from the other boys and felt different than all the girls. He told me he hated himself and I thought I would die from the pain of hearing that. I hugged him a lot. I told him he was beautiful a lot. I repeated it so often I’m sure he got sick of hearing it, but I meant it then, and I still mean it now.

It was a couple of years later when he told me he was Transgender. I bought him a binder and told him, again, that he’s beautiful. I changed his name in my phone the minute he shared it with me. It wasn’t hard for me to let go of the name he grew up with, because I remember how uncomfortable he was as that person. I want my cousin to love himself as much as I do, and I love him for who he is inside, and not for the body he inhabits.

Dakota has grown so much in his lifetime and I’m so incredibly, immensely proud of all he’s accomplished. Learning to love yourself is hard – especially when you live in a world that doesn’t accept you or treats you as a second-class citizen for the way you were born. I sometimes think about what would have happened to him if he’d been born into a different family. A family that fought him instead of embraced him, one that suppressed him instead of accepting him. There are a lot of kids out there exactly like my cousin, only they had the misfortune to be born to people who should never have had kids to begin with. Because if you can’t love and accept an LGBTQ child, you shouldn’t be reproducing. End of story.

You’re probably wondering why I’m writing about Dakota today. It’s simple; I’m asking for a little help. My cousin is growing, and I’d like to think he’s learning to love and appreciate the person he is – but I know for a fact that he’d be a million times happier if he could afford to get top surgery. He started hormone therapy right after his high school graduation and you can already tell a difference in how much more comfortable and confident he is as a man. But I want him to be all the way there. And if I could pay for his surgery myself I would in a heartbeat. But I have student debts out the ying-yang, so unfortunately, all the monetary help I can give him is minimal. Please, please, please, if anyone has a dollar or two to spare, I would dearly appreciate if you could find it in your heart to donate to my cousin’s surgery. Every little bit helps! He deserves to live in a body that he loves.

Thank you for hearing me out. And if you can’t donate, please share Dakota’s story so it can reach and help as many people as possible.

Thank you so much!

Kayla

Click here to donate to Dakota!

https://www.gofundme.com/dakotakhagenson

Homophobic Streets of America

So, I don’t normally post here. But I’m sort of desperate tonight.

Don’t know if any of you saw about Cal’s situation, but it’s left me heartbroken and unable to really articulate my emotions.

So I tried to capture it with a free verse of sorts. I’m not expecting a standing ovation, nor did I write it to receive any praise. The only reason I’m posting it is to maybe help any of you who are also struggling, to find peace in our common grieving. We must prevail, together.

Homophobic Streets of America

The quickened pavement beats Heavily on the soles of my feet as I race down these homophobic streets of America.

“Faggot” “Queer”

Is that what they choose to call me? Is there no respect to the people who championed for marriage equality? Is #lovewins just a fantasy? A figment of our imagination, not reality? When did being gay consume my identity?

I am a brother and a son A husband and a loved one Let concise words be our ammunition, not bullets and guns. Fists come quick and the irreversible damage is done.

Innocent lives being lost for political gain, Shooters blowing up clubs for limelight and fame. Politicians and the media avoiding the blame Playing chess with victims like its some sort of game- Leaving a wake of terror and pain.

Husbands holding hands is a political statement A careless act of love so innocent turned blatant Fuck the closet, they want us locked up in the basement. Freedom isn’t free if it comes with enslavement.

“But look how far we’ve come” becomes the mantra of the many Consolation prizes handed down by the gentry Feeding us not quality, but of the plenty Making up hashtags only when it becomes trendy Only now, our pride parades empty Scattering in fear from the homophobic frenzy That sweeps our nation down to the elementary.

Growing up gay in 2016 Is by no means a coveted luxury It’s a tale belittled to homosexual buggery A life of which is often taken before self discovery Spirits, if not bones, broken by religious thuggery.

The streets of America aren’t lined with gold They are built upon the stories that were never told Of the slaves who were bought and sold To the women who did what they were told- Or even to the child who took their own life never to grow old Overcome with the burden too heavy to hold.

Our nation can no longer ignore our plight Fuck, it’s our turn to take back the night! Together we stand a chance only if we unite To kindle the flame Harvey Milk told us to ignite To come out of the closest, to love as a birthright.

Because as I see it, our movement has no end in sight Because if injustice is alive, so is our fight.

“Homo” “Fag”

These words whisper in the distance I’m not asking for tolerance but merely acceptance. What’s so hard about practicing coexistence? And where the fuck is our national assistance? There’s only so much of who can resist this. Being told to kill yourself just for existing.

I don’t have the answers that I’m frantically seeking To stop our community from violently bleeding But what they can’t stop is our collective of healing. One beat, one pulse, simultaneously breathing. Gather our dead, and hold onto our weeping Rebuild our nation, for all are who are worth safekeeping Lessons learned, not for repeating.

Cause I don’t know about you, but I can’t take much more of this shit.