I remember the first time someone explained to me what the word gay meant.
We were in middle school
Playing on the swing set behind Stoy Elementary
"He’s so gay," she said
Bitter disgust poured out of her mouth with every syllable
I could not think as to why being happy could be such a horrible thing
And so I asked
My exact words being
“Whats so wrong with being happy?”
Now both my friends looked at me weird
“Don’t you know what gay means?”
“Doesn’t it mean to be happy?”
“You’re such a little kid, gay does not mean happy. Gay is a boy who likes another boy”
I stood there wondering why it mattered so much that a boy liked another boy;
why it was such a distasteful thing.
And why it meant gay couldn’t still mean happy.

She was alone.
A face in the crowd that not one person noticed.
She had no one, not even herself.
When she looked in the mirror, she had to turn away in shame.
how could anyone love me? she thought.
She hid her scars, her fears, and herself from everyone.
One night, she looked to the stars in search of an answer that never seemed to come.
She decided to give up on everything. Her hope, her dreams, herself...
And she let go.