some break the door down
others knock tentatively
others throw the door open dramatically and unashamedly
others lock the door and keep it locked
some of us had to pull ourselves out, kicking and screaming and fighting the whole way
some of us still have one foot in the door
some of us still visit it, sometimes

we all know what it's like behind the door
it's where we learn to hurt
it's where we learn to hide
it's where we learn to love
it's where we learn anger, and fire, and fight
it's home and it's not
it's scary and it's dark but it's there where we learn
to make our own light
to be our own light
that we can shine and we can glow no matter what the world beyond the door may say

"love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love, cannot be killed or swept aside"

happy national coming out day to all of us, everywhere

If I had my way, you would want for nothing.
I would stop the whole earth from spinning if you asked.

When you touch me, I am the universe experiencing itself.

I have so many strange words tucked away in my vocabulary but still, none of them will ever be able to do you justice.
You deserve a whole dictionary full of new words just to describe the space where your shoulder meets your neck.

A  candle or a flashlight?
Do you sleep with the door closed?
What songs did your mother sing when you couldn't sleep?
Did you have an imaginary friend?
Describe them to me.
How many past lovers?
Do you still think about them?
Miss them, even?
Do you like puzzles?
I'm very hard to put back together.
When you hold someone's hand,
do you like your thumb on the inside or outside?
Big spoon or little spoon?
If you could only listen to one song for the rest of your life,
What would it be?
Who hurt you?
How many skeletons are in your closet?
How many bodies have you buried?
How would you define love?
What's the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word "break"?
Does is still hurt to say her name?
How many hearts have you broken?
Is it better to ask for permission or to beg for forgiveness?
Do you believe in God?
What about astrology?
Have you ever looked in the mirror and not known who was staring back?
Could you ever love again,
The way you loved her?
Could you love me that way?

My mother asks me how I'm doing and I tell her "fine."
I do not tell about the new anti-psychotic I was prescribed this week,
or about the anxiety attacks that land me in the hospital.
This is how I lie to my mother to save her.

My mother is not like other moths,
she is all "party at Summer's house" and no "party at Chuck E Cheese"
She is all neglect and no nurture.

When my dad left, I was the only one still here to prop her up.
I held her while she cried,
I rubbed her back while she threw up,
I cleaned the house,
did the laundry.
I raised myself when she couldn't even get out of bed.

The only time she was there was when I told I was leaving,
then she would blow dry my hair and let me sleep in her bed.
I kept pushing her,
and pushing her,
and pushing her,
just wanting her to react in someway,
even if it wasn't good.

The last time I told her I was leaving,
she packed my bags for me and I haven't known what home is since.

I've gotten my heart broken before,
I've been through plenty of break-ups;
but none of that could have ever prepared me for breaking up with my mother.
Leaving what I called home with a box of my things,
I'd never felt more grown up in my whole life.
I've been carrying my mother since I was nine,
but when I finally dropped her,
I shattered.

This is how I break my own heart
to save myself.

Mama, here it comes.
I know you can't see through eyes so glassy,
but please try.
Just once.
For me.

Mama,
will you hold me tight?
Protect me from what's to come.
Shield me,
wrap me up with your love.
Brush my hair 100 times,
come on, I'll count with you.
Just like we used to
before the world turned upside down.
It might be gone before we even reach 99.

Mama,
I know you can't hear through ears so deaf,
but please listen to me anyway.
It's here now, mama, do you hear me?
It's here and it isn't leaving.

Mama,
I know you can't love with a heart so guarded,
so broken,
but please try to love me
just one more time.
I need it more than ever now.

Mama,
it's gone now.
I fought it off with my own two hands,
scratched it ****** with my nails
(bitten short just like yours.)

Mama,
aren't you proud of your girl?
This thing you have created?
This manifestation of 9 painful months,
9 clean months,
9 months untouchable by the monster.

Okay, mama,
I have to go now.
I am leaving.
I know you can't speak through a throat so clogged up with apologies you just never got a chance to say,
so I'll say goodbye for the both of us.

"Get me out of here alive" I scream,
because only you can.
Only you hold the key, the secret, the missing piece -
of me.
That's what you are.
I knew it the moment we met,
I think,
but my heart hid it away until it was time.
I held my love for you tight inside my chest
until the world was ready for it.

Lay your head on my chest.
Place your ear over my heart.
There.
Do you heart that?
That's you.
That's where I keep you.

I know,
I know I will still exist long after your love has left.
I know there is still a Me without You.
But I don't want to know her.
I don't want to be that girl.

I'm 13 the first time a boy in my class tells a **** joke.
I'm only 13, but it's been 2 years since I learned the seriousness of the thing him and his friends are now laughing at.
2 years since I had my favorite night shirt ripped from my back.
2 years since nails carved scars in my thighs my mother still thinks are from self harm.
2 months since I started blocking it out.

I'm 13 when a girl takes my backpack while I m putting my books in my locker,
Playfully yells over her shoulder,
"***** you".
I laugh.
I don't dare tell her what it's like to remake your bed at 4 in the morning,
Or what it's like to fight back tears when you ask your grandmother for new sheets for Christmas.
To only ever associate the summer heat with what it felt like that night between your legs.

About a year ago I watched the chronicles of Narnia for the first time with my dad.
It was one of my favorites growing up.
He says, "someone should **** that *****" when the witch kills Aslan,
And I stop myself from screaming at him that he had "the talk" with me a little too late,
That I lost my virginity to a man his age when there were still stuffed animals on my bed.
I don't tell him that I still shake when i have to be alone with him even though I know he would never hurt me,
Or that sometimes I still think I deserved it.

I sweat through my shirt everytime I try to write about it.
My best friend says she doesn't care who her first time is, that she just wants to lose it already,
But I wish I could make that choice.
I have lost control of my hands from the shaking when boys have asked me if I was a ****** over text message,
And have locked myself in bathrooms to sob because my sister said boys don't love girls who aren't pure.
I have heard girls called ***** who haven't gone as far as me,
And it feels like arsenic is in my veins everytime someone asks me how I know so much about *** if I haven't had it yet.
Or how my best friend told me she wants to hear about my first time because people still assume that triggers are only on guns,
And that every ******* romance movie is the perfect depiction of what losing your virginity is like.

We don't all get the soft music and the whispered names.
Sometimes you get hands over your mouth and years of ptsd,
Sometimes the I love yous get replaced with "don't wake your parents".
Sometimes I still feel like no boy should ever have to subject themselves to touching me,
For fear they might leave with their hands tainted.

You will never understand fear until you're looking at the boy across the room and thinking about what he'd look like without his clothes on,
Never understand depression until the tile of the bathroom floor is warmer than your thoughts.

I was 13 the first time I heard a **** joke,
And 18 the first time I told someone it wasn't funny.
Because for every second you laugh, I have spent years picking up the shattered pieces of my innocence.
Because it took me 7 years to realize that 20 minutes of not having control will never destroy the 3,681,641 minutes I have spent taking care of myself since it happened.
That the only person who will ever own this body is me.
That no amount of cheap laughs can undo the progress I have made.
So keep laughing.