Narciso Rodrigues.

Auto-erotic asphyxiating whilst gazing lustfully at his own reflection,
Narciso was in disbelief at his own perfection.
No need for a partner when you are an Adonis yourself.
why ruin the fun of self-adoration by including someone else.

His arrogance was unmatched, but he was apathetic, why would he care when he was such a fine catch? Delusion ran wild for he was convinced his weak chin was chiseled, clearly confusion corroded him as he believed he was a leopard when he was more similar to a lizard.

Narciso wrote his own fate that day
he passed his last mirror and became too aroused,
his face was still torn apart by shards of glass
when the paramedics arrived at his house.

In his passion, he had mistaken his reflection for the real thing,
so caught up in masturbating that he hardly felt the blood dripping.
With skin ripped, like meat cut by a butcher's blade, he was committed, still entranced by the thought of how handsomely he was made.

Pozitivity.

Growing up gay in a big city, there was no end to stories about acquaintances who had been diagnosed with HIV.  It was said they were 'positive' as though saying so made it any less frightening, or any less real.  The threat of contracting it was omni-present for a young boy who behaved promiscuously and often engaged in recklessness, all the while thinking with the wrong head. 

Fortunately, for me, I managed to steer clear of HIV, three letters that I convinced myself were a death sentence, but I have many friends who were not as lucky.  They inspire me, though, as they have shown me that a diagnosis need not be the end of the world.  These friends have fulfilling lives, and continue to work towards achieving their dreams, like their diagnosis was merely a hurdle, and not a setback.  I am inspired by their resilience, and take pride in having strong people like them in my life.

There was so much ignorance then (and there still is) within the community.  People are shamed for having it, as if they set out in search of contracting the illness, as if they are to be blamed somehow.  We are only human, and are susceptible to forget about certain things in the throes of passion; sometimes we take our partner's word for it when they tell us they have been recently tested, or that they are negative.  There are many factors that come into play, and one person cannot be made to feel like a social pariah for one misstep that alters the course of their lives.  The language we use when inquiring about another's status is even harmful, questions like "Are you clean?" only imply that a person is dirty if they happen to be "POZ."

A dear friend of mine contracted it from his partner, who had been unfaithful, and was devastated when his results came back.  He made the mistake of assuming society was not cruel or judgmental, and that he could confide in his employer's about why he seemed depressed.  That turned out to be a big mistake, as his employer feigned concern and suggested he take some time off, only for him to return and be followed around the office by coworkers wiping down surfaces he touched, and spraying air freshener in every room he was in.  Their reaction and torment resulted in a deep depression, that he is still trying to recover from.

It's stories like this that instill fear in me; would it be any different at my work?  What has changed, are attitudes even evolving in regards to HIV/AIDS?  Is there enough knowledge today to prevent a reenactment of Philadelphia, the first film to acknowledge the illness?  I do not think so, at all, but I feel like we are getting closer.  I believe, that ultimately, the gates of ignorance and oppression can only be unlocked by education. 
Once more people are informed about the virus, then there will be less paranoia surrounding it. 

Today, there are medications, like pre and post-exposure prophylaxes, on the market that allow for an HIV positive person's viral loads to be reduced significantly to the point where they will not be infectious.  Of course, these medications still require other forms of contraception, but they are proof that we have come a long way.   Thailand has even managed to reduce mother to infant HIV transmission rates, which is further evidence that HIV/AIDS research is making progress.  Either way, there is a lot more support for people who are living with HIV/AIDS and that, in and of itself, is monumental. 

Design for Trauma.

When my moods change without prediction, I withdraw into my shell.  Like an ostrich obstructing its arrest, I plant my head safely into the ground.  Although life has thrown me curveballs, planting many obstacles along my path,  I rose above the rain to reign resilient. 

As the sole male heir-apparent born after four, fiercely independent daughters, my parents' religion and culture collided to overwhelm me with a list of duties, and obligations.  Until my father took the downtrodden road for deadbeat dads, creating a strong, empowered single mother out of the waif he left behind.

Mom fought hard day in and out, wreaking havoc on the system, her education taught her tolerance, and blessed us with integrity, and wisdom.  Calm prevailed for a short song, until addiction dug its ugly claws into my sister's broken heart.  

At twenty-three, her lungs, kidneys, and heart stopped, and set her free from the LUPUS that medical research seemed to have forgot. I was nine and had no idea who death was or what it sought, so I collapsed into myself until neither shrink nor exorcist could figure out why I'd began to rot.

Substance abuse, self-harm, and solicitation started my rebellious stage.  I felt caged inside the body of some unfamiliar fiend; rape resulted in recklessness, street gangs, and rage, as I raced against the clock.  Suicidal ideation, and attempts became my obsessive thoughts, until a dual-diagnoses derailed my disappearing act; Bipolar-II and post-traumatic stress became cut away at me, like a double-sided sword.  Eventually, I'd make another twenty-seven attempts to end my pain, three of them were near successes, but I'm so thankful that I got them wrong.  

Added trauma, anxiety, and visits to the ER occupied my time, when I wasn't exploring my sexual identity, as I tried to simultaneously grow and rewind time to heal the little boy inside who remained lost.  Another sister's untimely demise and I thought life had finally won; in an instant, I lost my sister, role model, and best friend then watched my entire world flash bloody red before fading to broken black.  With little strength inside to go on, I went out like the light inside me that had also died.  Until the day I discovered a reserve of strength inside me waiting for me to pull it out; this is where I began to heal myself before I could also help the world.  

These scars, this story, and disease are merely pieces of my flawed design for trauma, without them I'd be someone else but I am strong enough to bear these crosses.  I am better because of my battle, life beat me into beauty.  To you, my garden might seem overrun with weeds, or rotten but to me, it is the rain-forest that saved me.  

Divine Happiness.

As an ever-repeated whisper,

you are more myth than monolith,

mysterious as midnight Mojave-mist,

though rumours are the only remaining proof that you even exist.

Like legends from less-desperate times,

you have always been larger than life;

whenever old wives retell the tale,

they all agree that you are the reason 

for every rhyme.

No fairy tale is complete without you,

the absence of 'ever-after' is a crime.

You are praised in song by swallows,

and bleed through every glass of wine.

Held on to by the hungry, 

you are at home in hope-filled hearts.

I pray, now, as my own flame flickers,

for your presence through the dark;

You—the currency of counted blessings.

You—the love that lights the endless sky.

Lead me to salvation, and away from anger.

Lift me up! So my spirit can finally let go, and learn to fly.