You're that teenage girl,
With red hair,
Glasses,
And too many freckles,
Secretly reading your LGBTQ book,
All alone.
Who only looks up when you hear the teacher talking,
To a group of freshmen girls,
And jokingly says,
"Boys are gross."
Inside your mind,
You couldn't agree more,
And that fact, it kills your soul,
That you hold your secret within.
The secret of who you really are.
Afraid of their shocked reactions,
And judgmental faces,
If you were to mutter the words,
"I agree."