I am the one who has to wait
For the right moment
To tell you
That I am not straight

I think thats kinda unfair
I am waiting for the day
That you are struggling to tell me
That you are not gay

If I told you
Would you understand?
Or would our friendship
Come to an end?

After that confess
Would you still be my mate?
Could you still show up with me
If I wasn't straight?

I feel sick,
My stomach churns,
Whilst my head burns,
And I wonder if I can tell you.

You said you love me,
Forever and always,
But tell me this,
Even if I live life my ways?

I told you this on April first,
And a joke is what it to you was,
So a joke is what I kept it to be,
Because I still require you to love me.

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.

if I am to have,
a son,
or daughter,
who comes out to me as gay,
and sit there crying trying to explain,
what else could I say,
then,
"stop crying",
"you said you where happy",
because acceptance is what people want,
in love,
in life,
and as a parent its your job,
to give it to them.

Behind a giggle and a smile, she's been hiding all the time, they make a joke  she never spoke, the fear of being judged, by the people she really loved, it hurt her too deep, so this to herself she would keep.

The day it all changed, created a great feeling of shame, showing who she was, became one of her flaws, said it wasn't her but yet she couldn't find a cure, for something so wrong, this can't be were she belongs.

They weren't meant to care, their feelings not afraid to share, the feeling of disgust, but in them she tried to trust, do they accept it or really reject it , she feels she should have kept it.

She wasn't alone though, that quickly began to show , because all of her friends they already know, a call away , in theirs she had to stay , the normality was there, these girls they would never care.

The support began to rise, along with a little surprise, at the start she may have been ashamed but all that suddenly changed, the pride she can show , now they all know , her happiness at the centre which began to represent her.

My hands shake as I place a letter on the kitchen counter
My heart beats fast as I leave and lock the door behind me
My legs tremble as I go down the stairs and I almost fall
I text my best friend "done".

I sit on the school stairs, waiting
Butterflies in my stomach fly around
Not butterflies, fireflies
Fireflies, burning me inside with anxiety

The phone vibrates
"I've read it and I'm proud of you. Our parents are reading now and they say they love you no matter what"
Acid kills the fireflies and everything calms down around me
I did it.

I dream about writing you a love poem
One that is not misted over.
One that is not about him
But you, my beloved,
Because you are the only thing that I have ever wanted and I am tired of being so shy.

But this is hard.
This is even harder than  I thought it would be.
I am staring at the her at the end of my first sentence and trying to figure out how it will sound when it finally breaks free from lips.
I imagine it will coat my ******* strange new liberation and we will both rejoice.

 I refuse to write of you equivocally
And blend you into a neutral they
Or let yet another poem fall to chagrin.
I will not let shame cast shadows on our glorious love
No declararion of the truth could ever be an aberration.

So I write this love poem to you.
I do not scribble you deep into the binding or dust you lightly across my untruthful words.
I want to stain these pages with the red ink with our love.
You are not my secret to keep anymore.
You are the color I want to paint the sky.