365
thats how many days its been.
its been 365 days since my mother
told me that you, my uncle,
my friend, slipped away,
slipped away from the hospital bed sheets
slipped away from the pain
slipped away from us, from me.
its been 365 days since I chose to go into
work instead of visiting you.
you see, I've always been a believer in miracles.
I've always rooted for the underdog because
it was you who taught me that all these years
I was rooting for you, I thought a miracle
is bound to happen. you were a good guy,
always knowing how to make everyone in the room
laugh until their stomachs hurt. I worked
through my shift, hoping that everything was alright, hoping that this hip surgery turned heart attack would turn into a miracle.
but I learned the hard way that sometimes hope
isn't enough to save a life.
I think about you and this **** day everyday. you
never got to hear what college I chose to go to, you never saw me graduate high school, you never got to hear what grade I decided I want to teach and so much more.
if I could go back to 365 days ago and change the decision I made, I would with no hesitation. I would
sit next to you in that hospital room and tell you I love you over and over until I lost my voice. but, I can't so I say it now, everyday. and although words mean so little when they're too late, I hope you're listening. I hope you can see me and I hope I can make you proud. although hope wasn't enough to keep you here, its whats keeping me here. in the words of you, "I'll see you when I see you."

being in a dark place gives you
plenty of time to think
so as I sit in this closet I wonder what
would happen if I opened the door.
would my mother still be able to call me
her daughter knowing that she likes girls and guys?
would my father go to an AA meeting one day
and never come home knowing his daughter
could one day get married to a woman?
would my brother not understand or would he
understand but not accept it?
would my grandparents still hug me knowing that
one day I could wake up in a woman's arms?
would my aunt and uncle drag me to the nearest
church and ask God to forgive me and then go home
and pray for me before eating dinner?
would they ever let me near my little cousins again
thinking that they could turn out like me?

being in a dark place gives you
plenty of time to write.
so I write about what I think life is
like outside this door, I write about
the slivers of light that come through
the cracks in the door and how wonderful it
must be to see it in all its glory.
I write about the shakiness I get in my hands
whenever a distant relative asks if I have a
boyfriend yet I write about all this and tuck
it away like a child trying to hide a
broken item from their parents because
they don't want to get in trouble.

being in a dark place gives
you plenty of time to hope
although it is hard to come by,
it's all you really have.
so as I sit in this closet getting ready
to endure another sleepless night
I hope that one day my hands will stop
shaking long enough for me to
finally open the door and be able to live
in the light I have only seen in small pieces
and I hope that when this
day comes, if it ever comes
I won't be alone like I am right now.