Nov 2017
I wake up, sweating
I dreamt about it again
My parents finding out.
It's World War 2.
My mom is driving down the road behind me,
Chasing me.
She is driving a ****'s car.
I'm running down a way so many people before me ran down
They, too, shared my or a similar secret
But I see contact mines in front of my feet, everywhere
My mom smiles and waves, makes a horrible face
I smile and wave back, feeling more and more dead
Than alive
I know this dream
I'm supposed to end up with the girl at the end
It's supposed to have a nice end
But it doesn't
Because I wake up, sweating
I dreamt about it again
My parents finding out.
I dreamt about it again
My parents finding out.
It's World War 2.
My mom is driving down the road behind me,
Chasing me.
She is driving a ****'s car.
I'm running down a way so many people before me ran down
They, too, shared my or a similar secret
But I see contact mines in front of my feet, everywhere
My mom smiles and waves, makes a horrible face
I smile and wave back, feeling more and more dead
Than alive
I know this dream
I'm supposed to end up with the girl at the end
It's supposed to have a nice end
But it doesn't
Because I wake up, sweating
I dreamt about it again
My parents finding out.
This poem is based on one of my nightmares about coming out to my parents that I've had this night. Since coming to terms with being bisexual, I've had dreams like these often, but until now, they were all different. So I might document them like this whenever I have them - the **** part was probably influenced by a talk I went to yesterday evening, a talk by a 87-year-old survivor who was forgotten during one of the death marchs in 1945 when she was one year younger than I am now.
(Bigender)
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