I am gay.
Gay, as in happy that I am still alive
Holding a hand, a kiss in broad daylight.
Some have lost their lives for less.
Don’t ask me, why so many violent acts begin with love.
A gentle caress or a caring word.
There is no logical reason.
Phobia is described as an intense and persistent fear.
Claustrophobia, Arachnophobia, Trypophobia.
How can the love of one strike fear in another?
We use the term “in the closet”, decorating up the shadowed up life that is hiding who we are.
The closet is the best place to hide a skeleton.
Not a soul will come looking.
Put n that mask each day, go to work, talk with friends,
Always perceived as something other than the color you hide beneath.
Something normal, default.
There is a spectrum of color running through these veins,
And all those before me, who had to fight tooth and nail to be seen.
Riots, screaming protests, pride parades under the threat of death.
Waiting with held breaths, to find out if you would be the next to die.
My mother tells me to love myself for who I am. Tells me I have a will like iron and a sensitivity thats softer than most
I am one of the lucky ones.
Leaving your safe haven that is the closet, can be like throwing a grenade.
Destroying everything in its vicinity.
Even when days get dark, I will continue on, for those who succumbed to the aids crisis, and others who have faded to oblivion.
For the thousands who died side by side,
their rags marked with a pale pink triangle.
They still live on.
So many lives lived in the dark.
A muffled cry trapped beneath neck ties and dresses.
It is time to spread those rainbow painted wings,