Sometimes, I swear I can feel my chest concaving at the thought of you.
I find interest in the fact that sometimes I want to be near you, but sometimes,  I wish you were an ocean away.

Sometimes I look at my mother,  and pray I'm not like her, but other times,  I wish I could be more like her because that would make my life so much easier.

Sometimes, I cry alone at night.
I sit unaccompanied and begin to gorge myself on memories and guilt that I am certain will forever haunt me.
And during the day.
I think about how many more days I must suffer before I can be me freely.

Sometimes, I wish I was as much of a physical man as my brother is.  
Because sometimes,  like when we have a relatives birthday, or a celebration, he is glorified for his ability to be ox-like.
And while I sit here only weighing 130 pounds and having the strength of a rubber chicken I feel as though every bit of breath I breathe is not with the carbon my lungs put out.

Sometimes I think about you.
And how you're with him.  
And it makes me sick.
Because sometimes. . .
I wish sometimes didn't exist