there’s a living reality of
fallibly hopeful distraction—
sheltered squatters—
residing above a room where
everything important is angry,
not easily suffocated.
the warm polyester of a busy mind
is sick with monotonous fear
that the residents below
will expand their decay,
raging in a panic until the walls collapse
and the nails in the floorboards are
upturned and weaponized;
a clever, persistent enemy.
this unbearably,
infallibly hopeless
struggle.
there are paintings on the walls
and books on the shelf,
plants on the windowsill in the late afternoon.
i’m worried these will die too.

A closed room - tight, binding
Hard to breathe, the air was sickening
The sticky stench, atmosphere thickening
Struggling to escape, fear was quickening.

My sexuality should not define me over the fact that I am a human being.
Just because I am in love does not mean I’m a child
“I love a girl,” I told my mom as I smiled
She looks at me questioning ready for the lecturing
“You’re just confused” she does not know this destroys
Just play along alright, “okay I guess I like boys”
Even though I like a queen rather than a king

This is my home this small lonely closet
So claustrophobic as these walls are closing in
all because of all of my so-called sins
I just wish I could be honest
So that this stops suffocating me
Running out of oxygen without the key
To open the door and get away from where I sit

I decide I will not remain silent
“Mom,” I say “I’ve never felt this way with anyone before.”
She pushes me back and closes the door
The world treats me like my sexuality is violent
The longer I stay the more I know
That this is not a choice and I am not in this solo
Although this closet makes my world view seem bent

When I see this girl my world slowly slips away
and I can’t find a way to hide how I feel
But I have to choose, the so-called safety of the closet or this amazing thrill
She touches my face bringing her lips to mine
as we sit in our sin our eyes get wide
We ignore it and pretend that we don’t care.

The first moment I was who I truly am.
The oxygen
oh how good it felt to breathe freely.
The closet
for even a moment far behind me.

Does my life lie within the sighs of limelit crying?
Stained forever, its dim, outshined, most importantly, not shining.
Loose
Dying by the poorest of timing,
it seems strange of me.
Not to mention that chirping
Usurping
Word murdering phrases curdling
and unsuddenly curling nails back, furling the unfurled.
It's not working.

you always knew
that i was scared of small spaces.
you act like you don’t remember
but you do
i know you remember.
you spit out the word
         “ claustrophobic ”
like it’s the bitter end of cranberry juice
leaving it stained on the bathroom tile.
now all i can see
in this dark house
is everything you said i shouldn’t be afraid of.
— like small spaces, like you —

can i forgive you ?
          no
should i forgive you ?
          maybe
am i still afraid of you ?
          always

I got a new desk today,
I thought "HEY!
if I get a new desk
I'll be able to fix this mess!"
I put together the desk,
it wasn't hard,
I didn't sweat.
I put it in my room
and I got upset
because despite the desk
being beautiful and tall
wooden and long
perfect for that corner in my room,
it was not big enough for the clutter
and the mess
and the stress
and all the books and the stuff
that I need around me.
So now I have a desk and my things
and we all float together in my solitude.

The ceiling grew in size.
My vision became blurred.
I began to see nothing but black.  
I struggled to move.
My body felt as if it was being constrained.
I couldn’t speak.
My voice was gone.
I couldn’t do anything.
I felt helpless.
I felt paralysed.