i'd never seen anger like that. it was a living, breathing thing. it was tangible,
a separate entity from the tiny woman that towered before me.
it lashed out.
i fell.
its claws and screams left its mark on me;
my skin stings, my ears are ringing.
i would hunch into myself if i could, if it would mean everything would stop.
but my mother is determined to beat the gay out of me.
if i cry enough tears perhaps it will dilute my being into a single heterosexual figure,
another easily labeled and conforming thing,
a printed, approved statistic on sterile paper.