Your True Direction

Category: Spoken Voice

  • Love Is Thicker Than Blood

    Love isn’t biology. It’s the choice to show up when no one else does.

    Your True Direction

    They asked me once if I’d ever adopt.

    I smiled.

    Said yeah.

    I’ve thought about it.

    And for a moment ,

    just a moment,

    I let myself imagine it.

    Little footsteps in my hallway,

    a name that finally calls me “dad,”

    a life

    that starts with love

    instead of permission.

    But then you said,

    “That wouldn’t be the same.”

    And everything in me went still.

    Not the same as what?

    As a child who shares my DNA?

    As a kid who happens to look like you?

    As the ones my brother or sister brings home

    and you call “grandkids”

    without hesitation?

    What you really meant was,

    my kids wouldn’t count.

    Not really.

    Not like theirs.

    And the thing is,

    you didn’t yell.

    You didn’t argue.

    You said it calm,

    quiet,

    like it was just the truth of the world

    and not a slow-motion heartbreak

    you handed me like casual conversation.

    You don’t even go to church.

    So this wasn’t about God.

    There’s no scripture behind it,

    no doctrine to hide behind.

    This was just you.

    Your belief

    that love built differently

    is love built wrong.

    But let me say this,

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    The hands that hold us matter more than the tree we came from.

    Love is thicker than blood.

    Because blood didn’t hold me when I came out.

    Blood didn’t protect me from the silence that followed.

    Blood didn’t stay up with me

    on the nights I wondered

    if I’d ever get to be a father

    without shame stuck to my last name.

    Love did that.

    Chosen love.

    Fought-for love.

    The kind of love that doesn’t ask who you are

    before it decides if you’re enough.

    So when I adopt,

    not if,

    when,

    my child will be mine.

    Not borrowed.

    Not close enough.

    Not “technically.”

    Mine.

    And if you can’t see that

    if your love stops at bloodlines and birth certificates,

    then maybe you’re the one

    who never really understood family.

    Because family doesn’t start in the womb.

    It starts in the heart.

    In the choice.

    In the showing up

    when no one else does.

    I’m not here to convince you.

    I’m not asking you to understand.

    But I need you to know,

    I’m done shrinking my joy

    to fit your comfort zone.

    Done trimming my life

    to keep your version of love intact.

    I’ll raise my child in a house

    built on something deeper

    than DNA.

    And they will grow up knowing

    they were chosen,

    fought for,

    held,

    and loved louder

    than most kids born into biology ever get to feel.

    So no,

    it won’t be the same.

    It’ll be better.

    Because love is thicker than blood.

    And I bleed love

    everywhere.

    💭 Reflection for You, the Reader:

    What kind of love have you chosen;

    not because of bloodlines,

    not because of obligation,

    but because you decided?

    And how can you honor that love louder, today?

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    About Your True Direction

    I’m not here to play nice, I’m here to make change. I work with veterans, teens, career shifters, and anyone who’s ever been told they’re too late, too broken, or too much. I help people rewrite their story when the world hands them a script they never asked for.

    I don’t save people. I remind them how to save themselves.

    That’s my legacy, and I’m just getting started.

    Follow along as I speak truth, challenge systems, and help folks build a life that actually fits.

    Connect with Us

    Follow us on Medium @YourTrueDirection.

    Your journey is yours to shape, take the next step in Your True Direction.

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  • “If You’re Gonna Go, Let Me Go With You”

    Your True Direction

    spoken word, from the trenches of loss and love

    Let me make this simple.

    I’ve lost people I shouldn’t have lost.

    Not to war. Not to car crashes.

    But to silence. To shame. To the weight they were too scared to hand someone else.

    And I’m pissed about it.

    Because I would’ve sat there all damn night.

    No advice. No judgment. Just presence.

    But no one gave me that chance.

    And now all I’ve got are eulogies I never wanted to hear.

    So this isn’t some poetic tribute.

    This is a wake-up call.

    To you. To anyone thinking they’re too far gone or too heavy to carry.

    Let me say this as clear as I can:

    I’d rather lose sleep than lose you.

    I’d rather be uncomfortable with your truth than devastated by your silence.

    Don’t make me show up in a suit. Show up now. Messy, tired, breaking — whatever. Just show up.

    This poem is for every person who’s ever thought no one would sit with them in the dark.

    You’re wrong. I will.

    And I’m not the only one.

    Just stay.

    He never asked me to be okay. He just stayed — quiet, loyal, present — when no one else knew how.

    I would’ve stayed.

    Sat beside you in silence.

    Watched your walls crumble and said nothing —

    just handed you the pieces

    because I’ve been there, too.

    But you didn’t let me.

    Didn’t give me the chance

    to carry even a corner of that pain.

    You just… vanished.

    Quiet like snow.

    Loud like a gunshot.

    Now all I hear

    is your absence.

    I would’ve taken the late-night calls,

    even the ones where you didn’t say a damn word.

    I would’ve sat on the floor with you,

    in the dark,

    in the mess,

    while the world kept spinning and you couldn’t.

    I know that place.

    I’ve cursed the sunrise too.

    Screamed into pillows until the seams split

    and still woke up wondering

    if it was worth it to breathe again.

    So don’t tell me I wouldn’t understand.

    Don’t you dare tell me I wouldn’t have stayed.

    I’ve lived inside the ache

    that convinced you no one could love you through it.

    But I would’ve tried.

    God, I would’ve tried.

    Now I’m stuck

    writing poems instead of texts,

    lighting candles instead of cigarettes,

    whispering your name

    to a sky that never answers back.

    And here’s what haunts me:

    I never wanted your strength.

    I just wanted your truth.

    Even if it was ugly.

    Even if it shook.

    Because I’d rather

    hear you say “I can’t do this anymore”

    than stand at your grave

    wishing you had.

    I’d rather hold your trembling hands

    than hold your obituary.

    I’d rather lose sleep

    than lose you.

    So if there’s someone else out there

    standing on the edge,

    this is for you, too:

    You don’t have to make it look easy.

    You don’t have to carry it alone.

    You don’t even have to speak —

    just stay.

    And let someone love you

    in the middle of your falling apart.

    Because I promise you this:

    I’d rather walk with you through hell,

    than sit through your eulogy in heaven.

    Enjoyed this article? Please support our work!

    ☕ Buy me a coffee: Thank You!

    About Your True Direction

    I’m not here to play nice, I’m here to make change. I work with veterans, teens, career shifters, and anyone who’s ever been told they’re too late, too broken, or too much. I help people rewrite their story when the world hands them a script they never asked for.

    I don’t save people. I remind them how to save themselves.

    That’s my legacy, and I’m just getting started.

    Follow along as I speak truth, challenge systems, and help folks build a life that actually fits.

    Connect with Us

    Follow us on Medium @YourTrueDirection.

    Your journey is yours to shape, take the next step in Your True Direction.

  • If My Pride Offends You, That’s the Point

    Your True Direction

    This isn’t a phase. This isn’t a performance. This is my truth — loud, raw, and unapologetic. If it makes you uncomfortable, that’s the point. 🏳️‍🌈🔥

    Yeah.

    I’m gay.

    And I say it with my whole chest.

    Not just a whisper in safe spaces.

    Not just a hashtag in June.

    Not just when I’m around people who “get it.”

    I’m gay. Loud. Proud. And not here to make it easier for you to swallow.

    You uncomfortable?

    Good.

    Sit in it.

    Because I marinated in your comfort for years —

    choking on my own truth

    so you could keep sipping coffee in your illusion.

    I’ve had people look me dead in the face and say,

    “I don’t care what you do — just don’t make it political.”

    But my existence has always been political.

    You politicized me before I ever opened my mouth.

    Before I ever held the hand of someone I loved.

    Before I ever said the words out loud that almost killed me in silence.

    You don’t get to say

    “Live and let live”

    and then look away when laws strip my humanity.

    You don’t get to say

    “I have no problem with gay people”

    but then flinch when we stop apologizing for being visible.

    You don’t get to play peacekeeper

    when you’ve been sitting on the side of the oppressor

    just because you weren’t holding the weapon.

    Let me make this clear:

    I don’t exist for your approval.

    I don’t walk into rooms hoping to be tolerated.

    I walk in knowing I belong — whether you like it or not.

    I’ve spent years editing myself,

    softening my voice,

    adjusting the way I speak,

    the way I dress,

    the way I breathe —

    just to make myself smaller for a world that couldn’t handle someone like me.

    And now?

    Now I expand.

    Now I take up space.

    Now I let every ounce of who I am fill the room,

    because I’m done pretending that survival is the same thing as peace.

    You don’t know what it’s like

    to love with one eye over your shoulder.

    To laugh carefully.

    To watch how you sit, speak, smile, exist —

    because any part of you might give away a truth

    they’re still ready to crucify.

    But I do.

    And I survived it.

    So I’m not going back.

    You wanna roll your eyes at Pride?

    You wanna call it “too much”?

    You wanna scoff at the flags,

    the colors,

    the noise?

    That’s because you’ve never had to fight

    just to feel normal in your own f*cking skin.

    Pride isn’t decoration.

    It’s declaration.

    It’s defiance.

    It’s a middle finger to every system, every church, every family

    that made us believe we were born broken.

    So yeah.

    I’m gay.

    And I don’t owe you an explanation.

    I don’t owe you a filter.

    I don’t owe you the watered-down version

    that makes you feel okay.

    You don’t like it?

    Block me.

    Mute me.

    Write me off.

    But what you won’t do — what you can’t do — is erase me.

    Because I’m not going anywhere.

    I’m not some trend.

    Not some “phase.”

    Not some character in a sitcom made for your entertainment.

    I am real.

    I am alive.

    I am not asking.

    I speak now for every queer kid who’s still hiding.

    For every adult who still flinches when someone asks about their personal life.

    For every soul who thought loving who they love meant losing everything else.

    I speak now because silence was never peace —

    it was a slow death dressed in politeness.

    But this?

    This is life.

    This is freedom.

    This is fire.

    So if my truth is too loud for you,

    cover your ears.

    But don’t expect me to lower my voice.

    Because I was quiet once.

    And it almost destroyed me.

    Now I live with the volume all the way up.

    And I’m not turning it down for anyone.

    Happy Pride.

    We’re not here to be liked.

    We’re here to live.

    We’re here to lead.

    We’re here to burn down every lie

    that told us we had to earn the right to exist.

    Yes.

    I’m gay.

    And if you can’t handle that —

    that’s a you problem.

    Enjoyed this article? Please support our work!

    ☕ Buy me a coffee: Thank You!

    About Your True Direction

    I’m not here to play nice, I’m here to make change. I work with veterans, teens, career shifters, and anyone who’s ever been told they’re too late, too broken, or too much. I help people rewrite their story when the world hands them a script they never asked for.

    I don’t save people. I remind them how to save themselves.

    That’s my legacy, and I’m just getting started.

    Follow along as I speak truth, challenge systems, and help folks build a life that actually fits.

    Connect with Us

    Follow us on Medium @YourTrueDirection.

    Your journey is yours to shape, take the next step in Your True Direction.

  • If My Pride Offends You – That’s the Point

    A letter to the mother who taught me how to hide myself.

    Your True Direction

    For every son or daughter who’s ever been told to tone it down, hide who they are, or “keep it in the family” – this is for you.

    For every queer kid whose parents tried to shove them back in the closet after they finally broke free of it.

    This isn’t a plea for acceptance.

    It’s a warning shot.

    We’re done apologizing.

    I walked away from the house that taught me to hate my own reflection – and I didn’t look back.

    Mom,

    Let’s cut through the crap.

    That poem I posted – “If My Pride Offends You, That’s the Point” –

    Yeah. That was about you.

    Every single line.

    Every word carved out of the silence you insisted I keep.

    Every sentence soaked in all the times I swallowed myself to keep you comfortable.

    You want to know why I wrote it?

    Why I don’t come around anymore?

    Why the version of me who still wanted your approval is dead and buried?

    Because I got tired of being the only one who ever had to shrink.

    Let’s go back.

    When I told you I wanted to marry Chris,

    you didn’t smile.

    You didn’t cry happy tears.

    You didn’t ask what kind of cake we were having or what colors we picked.

    You looked me dead in the eye and said,

    “Are you sure?”

    Like I just told you I was getting a face tattoo, not committing my life to the person I love.

    Then you tried to walk it back.

    Tried to say you asked Benny and Ashley the same thing.

    No, you didn’t.

    Don’t insult my intelligence.

    You celebrated their love because it fit inside your box.

    You accepted their marriages without a flinch.

    But with me?

    You flinched.

    And then came the wedding.

    Your judgment didn’t stop.

    You said we shouldn’t dance.

    Because “someone might not like it.”

    You ever ask me if I liked spending my life editing who I am just to be allowed in a room?

    You didn’t care about that.

    You cared about optics.

    About shame.

    About what people would say.

    Then Dad didn’t show up.

    And you say, “I argued with him.”

    Really?

    When?

    Where?

    Because I never saw it.

    You didn’t raise your voice.

    You didn’t defend me.

    You didn’t say,

    “Then I’m not going either.”

    You didn’t say,

    “That’s your son, and he matters.”

    You just stayed quiet.

    Sat in it.

    Normalized it.

    You want points for arguing behind closed doors?

    You don’t get credit for invisible battles when your son was left standing alone at his own wedding.

    And if all that wasn’t enough?

    Let’s talk about Thanksgiving.

    Our first one after we were married.

    Chris and I show up – husband and husband.

    Legal. Legitimate. Real.

    And what do you do?

    You introduce him as “Ryan’s friend.”

    Not my partner.

    Not my husband.

    Not family.

    A friend.

    And when my nephew tried to introduce Chris properly,

    you corrected him.

    You corrected him.

    Let’s talk about that, Mom.

    Because what you said in that moment was loud as hell:

    That I was an embarrassment.

    That Chris, who is legally part of this family, wasn’t welcome as who he was.

    That being gay is something to downplay, something to manage, something to cover in polite company.

    What if Cody was gay?

    What did you just teach him?

    That if he ever loved differently, he’d have to hide it?

    That his truth would embarrass you, too?

    Because that’s what you said without saying it.

    And let me tell you:

    I heard you.

    He heard you.

    Everyone heard you.

    I used to think you just didn’t understand.

    But now I realize you did.

    And you chose silence anyway.

    You say, “I’ve always loved you.”

    No, Mom.

    You loved the version of me that was small.

    Quiet.

    Careful.

    Filtered.

    Tolerable.

    You loved me when I was convenient.

    But every time I stepped closer to truth – you stepped back.

    That poem?

    That wasn’t for show.

    That was the sound of my ribs cracking open so my soul could finally breathe.

    It was everything I never got to say while you smiled and shifted and pretended everything was fine.

    You’ve said things like, “Don’t post that.”

    “Don’t say that at dinner.”

    “Keep it private.”

    No.

    I’m done keeping your secrets.

    Done protecting people who never protected me.

    Done tiptoeing around your shame like it’s my burden to carry.

    If my pride offends you?

    Good. That means it’s working.

    Because I’m not here to make it easy for you anymore.

    I’m not here to fold my love into something that fits your dinner plates.

    I’m not here to pretend your silence was love when it was just fear wearing a cardigan.

    You had a chance to love me boldly.

    You had a chance to say,

    “That’s my son. That’s his husband. This is family.”

    You didn’t.

    You chose quiet.

    You chose image.

    You chose your comfort over my dignity.

    So no, I don’t call.

    No, I don’t come around.

    Because every time I did, I had to leave pieces of myself at the door.

    And now?

    I refuse.

    I take up space.

    I speak loud.

    I post what I want.

    I dance with my husband.

    And if that makes you uncomfortable?

    That’s. The. Point.

    You had your chance to show up.

    You had your chance to speak out.

    You had your chance to be proud.

    Now I’ll do it for myself.

    And I won’t lower the volume just because you’re still not ready to hear the truth.

    – Ryan

    Enjoyed this article? Please support our work!

    ☕ Buy me a coffee: Thank You!

    About Your True Direction

    I’m not here to play nice, I’m here to make change. I work with veterans, teens, career shifters, and anyone who’s ever been told they’re too late, too broken, or too much. I help people rewrite their story when the world hands them a script they never asked for.

    I don’t save people. I remind them how to save themselves.

    That’s my legacy, and I’m just getting started.

    Follow along as I speak truth, challenge systems, and help folks build a life that actually fits.

    Connect with Us

    Follow us on Medium @YourTrueDirection.

    Your journey is yours to shape, take the next step in Your True Direction.

  • “Are You Not Entertained?”

    “Are You Not Entertained?”

    (A Spoken Word Piece)

    They see us walk in, glitter — glam, bold, and bright,

    And they whisper — “They just want attention, right?”

    Drag queens strutting like royalty,

    Trans kings commanding space like destiny,

    And suddenly, it’s a show,

    Not a life. Not a fight. Not survival.

    Just… something to gawk at.

    “Are you not entertained?”

    The words echo from the Colosseum to the club,

    From Maximus to Marsha,

    From gladiators to glittered defiance.

    We didn’t come to dance for your comfort.

    We came to exist — loudly. Freely. Fiercely.

    Because the world handed us silence,

    And we chose sequins.

    They say — “Why so dramatic?”

    As if history didn’t drench us in drama.

    As if we didn’t bury friends in the ‘80s,

    Or hide who we were to keep jobs, families, our lives.

    As if bathroom bills, conversion camps, and closet doors

    Aren’t heavy enough to make you scream.

    But go ahead —

    Clutch your pearls. Shake your heads.

    Scroll by with your assumptions and side-eyes.

    Say we do it all for attention…

    “Are you not entertained?”

    Or are you just too afraid to admit

    That this isn’t a performance —

    It’s a revolution wrapped in rhinestones.

    It’s freedom with a strut and a split.

    It’s truth with a tuck and a tease.

    It’s saying,

    We’re here. We’re queer. We’re done whispering.

    So next time you stare,

    Ask yourself:

    Is it the sparkle that blinds you —

    Or the power behind it?

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    About Your True Direction

    Your True Direction is dedicated to empowering individuals navigating life’s transitions. Through inspiring stories and actionable strategies, we aim to help you reclaim ambition, overcome challenges, and thrive in every stage of your journey.

    Connect with Us

    Follow us on Medium @YourTrueDirection

    Your journey is yours to shape — take the next step in Your True Direction.