The Right to Be Seen

I have carried one bright dream since childhood began, To live beneath the lights, to become who I am. Not hidden in silence, not buried from view, But standing before the world, fearless and true. I dreamed of the stage and the cameras' glow, Of programs and stories and places to go. I watched every star with a questioning eye, And learned from their voices that reached to the sky. I studied their manner, their courage, their art, The language of fame and the shape of a heart. I watched how the people would listen and care, How names could become like a light in the air. I know that the famous can influence more, Can open a window where none stood before. Yet fame is not proof that a person is wise, Nor does every glittering promise arise. Still, this is my dream, and it has been so long, A world-famous life, with a place in a song. My body bears wounds that may never depart, But damage cannot silence the voice of my heart. I do not drink, and I never smoke, I choose my own truth in each word that I spoke. I am not defined by a diagnosis or scar, Nor by one nation, one culture, one star. The world is much wider than borders imply, And adoption can cross every boundary and sky. There are countless lives and identities here, And every unique soul has something sincere. I want to be seen as myself, not concealed, To follow the dream that my childhood revealed. My right is to dream, though the road may be long, And I ask for the freedom to become my own song. My mother and I share a home and a life, And love can be tender while carrying strife. She is my guardian, holding limits around, While I hear the call of the world beyond. She has asthma and COPD in her days, And oxygen travels beside her always. I know that her burdens are heavy to bear, And perhaps fear sometimes disguises itself as care. Yet I cannot understand, though I try to be wise, Why my dream should be something she must despise. Why should the wish to perform be a shame, Or the longing for stardom be treated as blame? I have been this person for many a year, And changing that longing is not simple or clear. Perhaps she sees dangers I cannot yet see, Perhaps she is frightened of what fame could be. Perhaps there are reasons I do not understand, Invisible burdens she holds in her hand. I cannot know every thought in her mind, Nor claim that a secret is surely behind. But tension can grow where two visions collide, When one heart says "stay" and another says "stride." My father once stood between worlds of his own, Often bewildered by feelings unknown. He could not always understand his child, Nor the mother beside him, protective and mild. Yet father was tender, emotional, kind, A warm-hearted man with a sensitive mind. My mother loves differently, practical, wise; Perhaps love has more than one language and guise. Still, I need room for the self I have made, For dreams that survived every sorrow and shade. I ask not for hatred, rejection, or war, But space to become what I have dreamed before. My father lived seventy-two years and four weeks, And his absence now speaks in the silence it seeks. Ten days before death I last visited him, Then suddenly time grew unbearably dim. I was forty years and twenty-six days old When news reached my mother, terrible and cold. The nursing home called with the words no one wants, And grief entered quietly, crossing all fronts. Forty-five days later we gathered to part, With ashes instead of the living man's heart. Beside the grave, where the final words came, We remembered his kindness, his sorrow, his name. Some relatives came, some old classmates too, Some people we knew, and my mother came through. I stood there beside her, carrying grief, Trying to understand the shape of belief. No brother or sister has walked by my side, Though many cousins exist, scattered far and wide. One child was I, and one father was lost, And memory counts more than the measurable cost. The urn held a lifetime, but never the soul, For love does not vanish when earth takes its toll. His sensitive spirit still lives in my thought, In lessons of kindness that cannot be bought. He was a heart-person, feeling things deep, The kind whose remembered compassion we keep. And now I must carry both sorrow and dream, Two currents together, two parts of one stream. The stage that I wanted cannot erase death, Nor can grief extinguish ambition's last breath. I can mourn my father and still want to shine, For longing and mourning may both coexist in time. I have watched famous lives through the television screen, The triumphs, the failures, the spaces between. I watched their performances, gestures, and ways, Their public beginnings, their difficult days. I saw how a crowd could remember a name, How admiration could magnify fame. Some stars become legends in ordinary speech, Their influence traveling farther than reach. Some people adore them; some question their fame, For celebrity never guarantees character's name. Women may admire a famous man's light, Yet love is more complex than glamour at night. Men have their feelings and choices as well, And transsexual lives have their own tales to tell. No single desire can describe humankind, For love takes more shapes than a slogan can bind. Fame may attract people, but fame cannot prove That someone will cherish, be faithful, or love. A fortune may sparkle, a title may gleam, But character matters beneath every dream. So I do not want merely wealth or applause, I want recognition because of my cause. I want my own voice to be heard in the crowd, To stand as myself, neither timid nor bowed. I want the programs, the interviews, the stage, The chance to transform both my life and my age. I want to keep learning, improving each day, Through art and through study along my own way. Poetry, history, literature, art, Self-education strengthening heart. Modernity, tradition, the future and past, The freedom to grow and to question at last. I want to be famous, but more than a name: I want to earn meaning beyond mere acclaim. For everyone carries a right to their dream, To follow their nature, their hope and their theme. Yet freedom means facing the truth of the cost, And knowing that nothing worth having is lost. The guilty may flee from the eyes of mankind, But never completely escape from the mind. Conscience can speak more intensely than crowds, More loudly than billions beneath distant clouds. True love should remain when the glitter is gone, When fortune grows silent and darkness comes on. Choose truth and compassion, choose loyalty too, Choose love that remains when the world is untrue. Let justice be guided by evidence, not fear, And let every person's humanity remain clear. I will not condemn what I cannot yet know, Nor turn uncertainty into a verdict to show. For karma and destiny, instinct and choice, May all find their meaning through conscience and voice. There is freedom and merit, achievement and fate, Responsibility, justice, and choices we make. There is family and custom, tradition and change, There is everything human, familiar and strange. There are genes and connections, duty and trust, Equality, individuality, fairness and justice. There is hope and attachment, reciprocity too, The interaction of me with the world and with you. There is art, there is poetry, learning and growth, And truth that becomes what we choose to uphold. My body may carry permanent injury's sign, But my future is still something I may define. I have wanted the spotlight since childhood's first light, And I still want to live in the public sight. Not because fame makes one greater than all, But because this is the dream that I answer when called. I ask for my life, my identity, voice, and art— To live as myself, with an unhidden heart. And if I must grieve while I reach for the sky, Then let both grief and ambition live side by side. For I am still here, and my dream is still bright: I claim my own voice, and my right to be seen in the light.