As the rainbows appear and dissolve, during the month of Pride and beyond it is reminder of how far our country has come.
Being an Afro-Latina, lesbian poet in this day and age you hold an unspoken responsibility to provide a narrative that is juxtaposed to the world outside.
Poetry for me, similar to most poets, started as an escape from the world I had no understanding of. I was 10 years old. Three years prior I had found out the man I thought was my father was not and life just became insufferably complicated from there. I was lucky enough to have a fifth grade teacher that viewed me as more than just a student in her classroom. She saw light and greatness in me before I understood any of those things.
In that classroom my journey started. We often delved into projects centering on poetry. We were given free rein to write about anything. I would write about my mom, often. She was the center focus of my poetry, for many years to come. I think the most memorable point in that classroom is when my teacher set up an after-school Poetry Slam. She built a stage for us and made it the most noteworthy experience. I and several others performed. The exact piece escapes me, but I remember feeling more powerful than I had ever been.
As time went on, poetry became my only solace in the lonely world to come. I began discovering the depths of sexuality after suffering a sexual assault at the age of 12 and becoming a victim to men and women after. They were broken just as I was, and I was the portal of brokenness for a long time. My poetry allowed me to express what was extraordinarily difficult to. I did not live in comfort, I lived in fear of who I was.
I was not exposed to many people who were a part of the LGBTQ+ community, so to understand these feelings escaped me. My first same-sex relationship was via the internet. We never met in real life but were consistent figures to each other until about 14. She was a little older and pushed me to label who I was. I eventually gave in and labeled myself as a lesbian. I did not come out to my family until I could look at myself and not cry or feel ashamed. I had spoken about weddings with my mother from a young age, never to a woman. I held infatuations about male athletes to deter my mind from the deep love I had for women.
Poetry was my voice. I would write about how hurt and lost I was, how desperate I wanted to be normal and feel real love. I was so lonely and no matter how many friends or relationships came and went, that hole of acceptance was greater than their presence. I came out to my mom at 15 and she was far more concerned with my pot, sex and porn problem than anything else. She did not reject me, she loved me no matter who I was. Despite this acceptance, I suffered because I never knew how the world could possibly love me if I couldn’t love me.
My first high school was brand new, but the ways were not. I witnessed a race war on the front lawn of my campus. I felt like sinking into my turtle shell even more. It wasn’t until my mother decided it was time to move and I transferred high schools that I felt comfortable being myself.
At my new high school, it was culturally diverse and I actually began seeing people who were a part of my community. I developed my first real-life relationship and she became the focus of my poetry. She inspired me in so many ways because she loved me passed my looks, seeing my heart and soul. Unfortunately, being young and discovering yourself was not a recipe for a successful relationship. It was staticky due to me learning how to be a healthy partner and her learning as well. I would write her letters about a future I believed was possible. Poems dedicated in her honor and love laced in every line. She was the first love my poetry was for and it was effortless.
Among the rubble of high school relationships, some of my unhealthiest, I created incredible poetry. In the mists of chaos, the most beautiful words came out of me. I now call that moonlit chaos. It was patches of light in darkness that pulled at the essence of my being and was powerful.
Fast-forward a few years after graduation and the tragedy of Pulse reignited my poetic flame after I put it on the back burner for a handful of years. Pulse made me realize my purpose of existence, and that became the catalyst for my most prolific poetry. I expressed, in a piece via Huffington Post, the desire for my cause of death to not be because of my queerness, color of my skin or style of dress.
Following that I began writing hundreds of poems. My greatest love has been that for three years and through her I have written love poems that are unmatched. My poetry continues to be the best way to express who I am and I’m finally loving every ounce of me. I learned, I’m still learning, that the secret to remain whole in the unbridled image the world tries to paint of our community is love, we are all love.
Bryana Saldana (She/Her/They) is a 25 year-old Afro-Latina poet born and raised in Orlando. She had her first published poem through “For Women Who Roar” and seeks to relate to issues surrounding the Black, woman and queer experience.
