Oct 2014
Coming out to my family was more than difficult.
I hated myself and felt as if I had let them all down.
That they wouldn't accept me.
The day it had happened, I didn't plan for it... but I was violently dragged out of the closet by the roots of my hair and un-understanding looks and stares crept over my body for what seemed like forever but couldn't had been any longer than thirty seconds of nothing but a burning sensation throughout my body.
Their eyes traveled over every inch of me.
They didn't speak, and then again they didn't have to, their eyes said it all.
It was mothers day, and at the time I lived with my aunt who sat with my grandmother who approvingly shook her head and told my that all ******* shout be dead...
I sat helplessly listening to all of the derogatory words fleeing from their lips as if they were bats from the hell they said I'd go to for loving girls.
My aunt asked me "what do you "like" about women Katlyn..." as if she were a therapist about to solve all of my problems with talking it out only to try and play reverse psychology on me.
But what she didn't know is all of those 16 years I'd spent in that dark, lonely, un-needed, ridiculous, stupid, figment of societies imagination called a closet that categorizes someone's anxiety and fear of showing their true colors a magnificent rainbow because of the hate and discrimination that would flow out of them like this poem flows out of my heart.
I spent all of those 16 years trying to come up with things that I didn't like about women because that seemed more simple than what I did like... all I had come up with was that I couldn't love them and be open about it without someone hating our love and lust for each other.
So I answer my aunt with this " I like nothing about women, but love everything about them. I love their personalities, I love their physique, I love how strong that they have been created although it is people like you who doesn't support them that ends up breaking them into a fragment of the woman that they truly are, I love how their hearts are beautiful and a story book ready to read if you give them the time and attention that they not only feel that they need but deserve, I love a woman's smile when you call her beautiful, I love how a woman's eyes tell everything about her, I love how a women kiss with their lips so plum and passionate, I love how women come in all different shapes and sizes and how every single shape and size defines them all as a beautiful, mystic, and **** perfect being, I love how all women are unique and how not one woman is exactly like another, I love how a woman clenches her thighs around my body as we declare our love by caressing ourselves over each other becoming so close that for that moment that we are making love we become one human being, how I get a fever from the friction our bodies make against each other, how I melt into her as she flows over my body in the bed that you bought me. I love how they make me feel the way that no offence but a man never could. I love how women tastes and how mine left little morsels of her pleasure on my sheets and you touched them with your bare hands and you sit there claiming that being gay is a disease... all I have to say is if that's the case, you've been contaminated and you have my disease of loving women and now you are as gay as me.
I hated myself and felt as if I had let them all down.
That they wouldn't accept me.
The day it had happened, I didn't plan for it... but I was violently dragged out of the closet by the roots of my hair and un-understanding looks and stares crept over my body for what seemed like forever but couldn't had been any longer than thirty seconds of nothing but a burning sensation throughout my body.
Their eyes traveled over every inch of me.
They didn't speak, and then again they didn't have to, their eyes said it all.
It was mothers day, and at the time I lived with my aunt who sat with my grandmother who approvingly shook her head and told my that all ******* shout be dead...
I sat helplessly listening to all of the derogatory words fleeing from their lips as if they were bats from the hell they said I'd go to for loving girls.
My aunt asked me "what do you "like" about women Katlyn..." as if she were a therapist about to solve all of my problems with talking it out only to try and play reverse psychology on me.
But what she didn't know is all of those 16 years I'd spent in that dark, lonely, un-needed, ridiculous, stupid, figment of societies imagination called a closet that categorizes someone's anxiety and fear of showing their true colors a magnificent rainbow because of the hate and discrimination that would flow out of them like this poem flows out of my heart.
I spent all of those 16 years trying to come up with things that I didn't like about women because that seemed more simple than what I did like... all I had come up with was that I couldn't love them and be open about it without someone hating our love and lust for each other.
So I answer my aunt with this " I like nothing about women, but love everything about them. I love their personalities, I love their physique, I love how strong that they have been created although it is people like you who doesn't support them that ends up breaking them into a fragment of the woman that they truly are, I love how their hearts are beautiful and a story book ready to read if you give them the time and attention that they not only feel that they need but deserve, I love a woman's smile when you call her beautiful, I love how a woman's eyes tell everything about her, I love how a women kiss with their lips so plum and passionate, I love how women come in all different shapes and sizes and how every single shape and size defines them all as a beautiful, mystic, and **** perfect being, I love how all women are unique and how not one woman is exactly like another, I love how a woman clenches her thighs around my body as we declare our love by caressing ourselves over each other becoming so close that for that moment that we are making love we become one human being, how I get a fever from the friction our bodies make against each other, how I melt into her as she flows over my body in the bed that you bought me. I love how they make me feel the way that no offence but a man never could. I love how women tastes and how mine left little morsels of her pleasure on my sheets and you touched them with your bare hands and you sit there claiming that being gay is a disease... all I have to say is if that's the case, you've been contaminated and you have my disease of loving women and now you are as gay as me.
