I remember the day I called a depression hotline while I cried inside my closet. I did not fit completely,but I felt hidden away from the rest of the world. I just needed a wall to protect me. I could barely speak because the tears just fled out more. I had built a dam around my mind and didn’t release certain thoughts. I bottled it all up but the beavers got tired of swimming in ***** water, so day by day they chipped away the wood until everything was collapsing and I came crumbling down with the water. Now I spend my days trying to rebuild it and block the rush of the stream - fighting back the tears, thoughts, and any negativity that wants to escape. I let it all bite at me - but not consume me. It’s funny because it made me realize that monsters do live in closets, but I live in my own.

you're in my closet
you're next to my old ballet shoes
you're not graceful
and neither was i
you slipped through my fingers
so clumisly
with such force
you never really knew
how powerful you really were
you get so moved
you begin you move other people
me towards you
you away from me
we sit in silence now
you don't say rainy day thoughts
you just
tell me the same things
like: yeah, you look good today
but i never look good today
because there's this weight in my chest
you're in my chest
you're in my closet
you're in my past
with my old ballet shoes

Every child knows there's monsters
Hiding in the closet and under the bed
But, I have a secret each child should know
And it's about a Galumpher instead....

Galumphers are watchers
They help keep the peace
They help keep the monsters in line
With three eyes on the closet
Three on the monster
And three more...did I mention they've nine?
They watch where you're going
And they keep out of sight
And you can sleep through the night mighty fine.

Galumphers aren't dangerous
They live under the bed
They eat socks and the occasional mouse
But, the one thing that's certain
With a Galumpher, well fed
You won't find bedroom monsters in your house

If you believe in those monsters
You'll believe in these too
They're as real as the monsters you fear
Just remember Galumphers
Are there eating your socks
And with them, the monsters aren't near

I've never seen a Galumpher
But I know they're real
I know this, because I once was a kid
My dad checked my closet
Before he'd turn out my light
Because I knew that's where monsters all hid

But, one night he told me
Of the Galumphers that watched
With their 5 ears and nine eyes to see
And as my socks all went missing
And the mice disappeared
The Galumpher became a friend to me

Should you meet a Galumpher
Out from under the bed
Just smile and pretend not to see
For he's probably out
To get the dust bunnies off
And to go and have a long ***.

I had no idea how one email could give me the best week of my life, yet utterly break me further than I already was. The truth that I shared has taken away and given so much. My family has shamed me. All of you, my friends, have lifted me up. I had no idea what type of emotions would come with this sincerity.  

  I was overridden with anxiety, unable to breathe and violently shaking, as I sent the email. I was unable to sleep that night with mind shattering anxiety, and the giddy relief that came through my best friend's text.

  I was so terrified and anxiety ridden that I became physically sick and unable to attend school the next day. But all of your support and love lifted me from this for just a moment during lunch. I, for once in my life, had something that I could hold onto and be sure about; something that told me I did have a future.

  But, in a matter of days, I was shown that all good things come with a price. Somehow my mother was informed of this email I sent to all of you. My mother was as hateful as she proves herself to be daily; shaming me, rejecting my privilege to believe in God and calling me an abomination in the Lord’s eyes. She proceeded to kick me out of her home, saying that she didn’t need any more of Satan's work in her life.

  Then, as I was at my Dad’s house, she decided to take the right that was never her’s, and share the news to those I did not wish for it to be shared with. Now, my Dad, my friend, Katy, who hates homosexuals and many others know. My mother has ruined and tainted my only escape from my ruthless reality: the people that had no idea of my mental illnesses or sexuality.

   This brings me to where I am now. I have lost so much in the past week and gained very little. Even right now, all the security and sureness that I felt on that first day had been swept away by my family and my own beliefs and insecurities. I have lost every uninformed outlet in my life this week. I have questioned if homosexuality is truly against God’s will. I have racked my brain to try to find an answer on if this will make me unworthy, an abomination or a non-believer. I have lapsed from sureness to self hatred hundreds of times. I want to spend my'life for God, but I don’t know if I can because of this.

I am torn between fighting myself with deadly blows of self hatred, to believing God isn’t how my parents say he is. I don’t know whether to believe I can be this way, or if I have to somehow change myself. I just hope I can survive this.

After a battle
I lie
Fatigued
And fearful

That this is only the beginning
Of the long war to proceed
That I will have to fight
So much more

For my sanity
For my right
For my happiness
For everything

But at that moment I cannot move a muscle
I can barely bat an eye
My heart is numb
My throat dry

My drive - absent
And my will
To keep fighting
So small

She hardly speaks,
but when she does.
Her words are bullets.

And instead
of being filled with tiny
pellets of metal.
They are filled with seeds.
Cause she is growing on me.
Grow me into a vine.
That stretches across
the whole garden.
So when you try to take me out,
I’ve touched every part of your life.
You can’t get rid of me.
I’ll be a pain in your ***.

Attached by my heart strings.
You’ll have a huge box of my things,
buried in your closet.
With all of your skeletons,
and your dresses, your jeans,
and shoes.
And when you blow the dust off of me.
Remember my guitar strings.

The way I used the stems of flowers
as tally marks,
for all the days I hadn’t blown it yet.
So when I do.
Shoot your bullets in my dirt.
So your seeds can grow.
Don’t worry about my garden,
being over grown by weeds.
Cause I quit sewing those seeds,
years ago.

I do not rely on your happy,
to make me happy.
I know I am weak,
at the knees.
Because everybody trips
over their own feet, sometimes.
How many people can say,
they’ve seen something
more beautiful than a sunset.
April Showers
didn’t bring the flowers, darling.
Your heart did.
Your heart did.

fear.
envelopes me like a nightmare.
i can feel its talons.
raking my skin.
caressing.
all the scars.
fear you unwelcome old foe.
back from the dead.
i risked your uprising.
with the sunshine in my soul.
when i laughed just a little too loudly.
i woke you.
for you to cut me.
with the truth.
of all that walks.
with me.
inside me.
that the people might see.
that they might know me.
and from my mouth.
i give a little cry.

My sexuality isn't something you get to determine.

Nor something you get to judge me for.

Nor something you get to passive-aggressively hate on.

My sexuality is, however, something wonderful.

It is fluid.

It is something I am discovering uninhibitedly.

There is no need to define it.

Plus, trying to define it is what has caused

me untold anguish in the past anyway.

I hear them in the background,
whispering their hate;
plotting their attack.

I was born sick,
I heard them say it.

I cant help it,
I've prayed for forgiveness,
But I was born sick.

I was born a creature of uniqueness,
A creature who should be judged,
A creature who should preach,
And a creature who should be happy.

I am happy,
And I am strong,
I rise against you,
Because I know you're wrong.

I stand tall and proud,
whilst you whisper.

I wasn't born sick,
I wasn't born wrong,
God cant save me,
Because I'm not in distress,
It was you!
You who created this mess.
And it was you,
You were born sick.

the mindset that you bring to it
the taste of your thoughts
a lick would slide down your throat
like a fish headed back to
water