The gayness in me was too much for them
to bare, too much for them to come to terms
with and see me from the inside rather than
the outside, too much for them to be around me
out of fear that others would judge them
the same way.  I saw it all in the fading grey
skies, how they tossed me aside, how they
mocked my gay pride, feeling like I could
shout and cry, stare at the aching tears as they
slid down my swollen cheeks onto my drained
lips.  I was suffering from a sprained ankle,
the overwhelming aching equations and mazes
splitting my heart at the root as my muscles
failed in unfathomable stages.  I was losing
the crystal-clear pages of my cells, my nation
stuttering, shuddering, crumbling with meaningless
detail.  I thought I could be loved even if I was
different, even if I was a flower child blossoming
into a fabulous star, but they proved to me that
this gay world I was existing in was a mere mountain
of undiscovered truths with no room to grow.  
And as I tried to confront the situation in
the most realistic way possible, I found
myself falling in smoky flames where the thick
powdery ashes covered my charred and shrunken skin.