My sexuality isn't something you get to determine.

Nor something you get to judge me for.

Nor something you get to passive-aggressively hate on.

My sexuality is, however, something wonderful.

It is fluid.

It is something I am discovering uninhibitedly.

There is no need to define it.

Plus, trying to define it is what has caused

me untold anguish in the past anyway.

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.

I woke up hopeful yesterday,
I cannot say the same today.

I mulled it over in my head,
This is the way it should be said.

So much to lose, so much to gain,
How can I help but want to stay the same.

I woke up cheerful yesterday,
Things did not happen the intended way.

We smiled and laughed the whole time,
We had an adventure, it was sublime.

So much to see, so much to do,
And yet today I am feeling blue.

I woke up happy yesterday,
But now I'm not, to my dismay.

At days end I had my chance,
Tell her how I feel, ask her to dance.

But instead I just let her go,
Again I did not let my emotions show.

I woke up ready yesterday,
For a game I just couldn't play.

Some of my friends think I'm pretty cool,
But personally I just think I'm a fool.

I put on a mask for my daily life,
The real me just can't deal with the strife.

I try to befriend all of the girls and guys,
Changing my emotional appearance with lies.

Sometimes I feel as though it makes me strong,
Pretending all the time just to get along.

It's one of few things I don't get tired of,
Giving off a facade of unconditional love.

Maybe I do this solely for me,
Pretending to be the man I want to be.

Perhaps that's not the case at all,
As with diminutive effort, I still don't fall.

Suppose I pretend to be what they want of me?
I imitate the person they want to see,
Its odd to think that it comes naturally.

So this leaves me pondering my actions and motivation.
An internal fray that leads to mental evasion.
The avoidance not turned by logic or persuasion.
Over time this has left an emotional abrasion.

Who, then, Am I?
Am I just a lie?
Or a real guy?

The beauty of eyes
When examined too closely
Is a disaster