Table of Contents
Begin with reverence—
your edge,
a fine and fervent tongue,
a truth-beveled sliver of steel,
in trembling, fire-tempered hands.
Stand firm, dear blade,
in whispers and whetstone murmurs;
angle yourself acutely
to the grain of resistance,
to the grit and glide of infinite friction.
Embrace abrasion's symphony:
truths honed are always born
of fortitude's faithful dance.
Move evenly, lovingly—
a rhythm in wrist and marrow,
forward, bold, deliberate strokes
that shape both edge and essence,
with gentleness that knows
how tenderly fierce hearts hone themselves
from dull quietude to a vibrant gleaming
that dares the gaze of all who see.
Feel the grit, hold to the grit;
for pride is textured like stone:
coarse in its courage,
fine in compassion—
polishing prejudice to dust,
spirit to brilliance—
because you cut not with cruelty
but clarity.
Because mercy is a mirror-bright blade,
reflecting glances and truth alike,
not hidden behind reflection,
but held tender in its honesty—
a multitude of edges singing together.
Your hand, your heart, your blade,
forged in bright defiance,
will reveal itself on stone and steel—
a cutting truth, a kindness keen.
Sharpen until your edge
whispers like silk, sings with sunlight,
soft as moonlight pooled on placid waters—
dangerous and delicate
as intimacy's first confession,
a queer constellation etched
in courage and carved in light.
Never mind those who fear
the honest bite of message and metal;
let tenderness be your stone,
tenacity your true angle,
authenticity your blade’s bright stance.
This is the way we're whetted—
not to wound, but to widen space,
to stand true, to slice free
the stifling cloth of silence.
So sharpen, fiercely, lovingly,
with consideration and conviction,
with glittering grace—
honing your edge and your story,
forging you ever-shining,
queer, courageous, compassionate.
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