I’ve tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
“you can’t wear red lipstick”
made me believe
I never wanted to in the first place.

for every time instead
I’ve stained my lips with cherries
learning how to tie the stems
so I can slip forget-me-knots
to the back of your throat—
do you feel my restriction now?

the razors that fly off my tongue
perk thorns on my skin,
another down stroke on my wrist
will teach me that
you were right,
shyness is a virtue.

no need to speak,
go spend one hundred dollars
and some percent for tax
to cover up,
even though I’m sure your mother told you
that cotton stains.

so make it black.
get your hair stuck
in the zipper of that sundress
and pray as you pull it out
that it will lose its pigmentation
in the process
mark a down stroke
for killing two flowers
for one bouquet.

hold it
close your eyes and throw it back,
I know we shouldn’t be wearing white anyway
but tradition can take a lot out of you
like what you really think—
don’t say **** in public.

instead drag your first impressions
all the way to the altar
and dress in your Sunday best
a flower on your lapel
clear on your lips
a stroke for the neat decline
of the son

I tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
my image
was my fault.

She was just a caterpillar before,
But now she is a butterfly like you.
And as I wither away into my cocoon,
I hope that, someday, I'll be a butterfly too.

They were so wrapped up in themselves all the time
That they wasted away their lives,
But their toppling equilibriums then settled in unison
And they caught each other's eyes.

Someone asked me the other day
"Do you like her?"
I thought for a second and smiled,
"Yes, yes I do."

"God, you're such a lesbian!"
I smiled and replied with,
"I know."
And kept on walking.

Later in the day
People were staring at me
And
Calling me names.

I held my head up
High
And smiled.

Nobody will stand in my way.

What is "the closet"?
It's not physical
No
Rather, it's a state of mind

But sometimes is feels physical
The pain of all the lies you tell
To keep your secret in the closet of your mind
To keep your secret from accidentally
"Coming out"


"The closet" is
Lying by omission
Keeping others away from the suspicion
That you're not like the rest
That you like the same ***
Or, if you're me, both

"The closet" shouldn't have to exist
This state of mind
Of constantly having to hide
Being constantly afraid
To just step out
And be yourself

Knock! Knock! Knock! On my door.
An unexpected visitor? Never before.
In my comfort,  to the door I amble.
But once the doors open, its too much to handle.

The memories flood through, not wanting to leave.
They reach above my neck. I struggle to breath.
I try to find any possible way out,
But there's no one around
to hear me shout.

(A tap on my shoulder)I realise I'm still in line.
"Here's your coffee, miss. Are you alright? "
I'm just fine.