I don’t tell you
Because I’m scared
I don’t tell you
Because it’s something
That needs to be shared, right
This minute
I’m not hiding and
I’m not lying
If I don’t tell you
This part of me.

But
I will tell you
Because I want to
And because it’s
Always there.
Like how I
Would tell you
You’re my best friend
Or how I would tell my
Family I love them.

It’s there
And it’s clear
Perhaps not to you
But to me
And I’m saying it
So you and I can see
Just that bit
More clearly.

I impatiently waited tables
trying to earn enough money
to keep my apartment
filled with cheap beer
and expensive drugs.

There wasn’t much else to do
in that stuffy little town
with one intersection.
The air was fine
as long as you didn’t breathe.

I watched my friends and neighbors
watch me from a close distance,
separated by a parking lot
and an eternity of sins
that no one wanted to talk about.

When I was 18,
I kissed a boy
and told him we were going
to get married some day.
He laughed at me.

I picked out a tux anyway.
It was white. I wanted to wear white.

"i am so lame" i whisper to myself
after putting your flannel in the dryer
so that it would be as warm as it was when you gave it to me
fresh off your skin

your scent is waning, but i can still catch it
i wish i could hold it in my palms
because god knows it's my favourite smell in the world

i wear it until it get's cold again
but by then i'm already asleep

dreaming of you as i pretend you're holding me

Filled with so many wonders.
Mystery as to its insides:
A jack in the box ready to jump at its first chance,
A barren desert with the occasional cactus,
A whirlwind of colors blended together
A collection of identical grey, or
A small feeble fairy shielded from the world.

The closet,
A corner of the world
Protected from the daggers of reality.
The reality that so many fear
The closet,
That can easily turn its own daggers
onto its refugee.

The closet
Where the magical
rainbow-colored people,
Are surrounded by clouds.
Hugging their beautiful diverse bodies
Its warmth emitting the only comfort known.
Acting as armor for those scared of the unknown
Armor from the strikes of the evil
The strikes of the familiars
The strikes of the outsiders

The closet,
Where hiding the secrets within a soul
Is normal
Where blank pieces of paper lie,
screaming to be colored rainbow.
Screaming to walk with pride

Blank pieces of paper in secret
Protecting its true, bold and
vibrant colors
Crying to be seen
Crying to be honored

The closet,
Its clouds turning into hurricanes
Destroying everything in its path
Millions of questions,
Millions of concerns circling,
Circling into a pit of despair

The eye of the hurricane,
In a tranquil place
Lies an animated child
So small yet so strong
Hiding its flamboyant skin with dull clothes
Surrounded by chaos
And grey.
A hurricane of stress and fear
Fear of being out
Fear of being exposed
Fear of the unknown

The animated child,
Wanting to leave the secure place of a closet
Wanting to march with pride
Wanting to share its colors with the somber world

The closet,
A space where a weak small flower bud
Is waiting to blossom, waiting for its time
Waiting to spreads its soft-spoken petals
Waiting for its petals to stand with strength and poise

The closet,
where fairies,
Rainbow colored people,
Blank pieces of paper wanting to be colored rainbow,
Animated children,
And glorious flowers
Are given the space to reflect on what resides within one’s soul

The closet where
A sense of stability and security are ensured
Where true colors develop and are protected from the large erasers
wanting to keep plain colors, plain people
Where their once weak stance develops into a stance with pride and respect

Pride in their colors and flags
Pride in who they may love,
whether same, opposite, or multiple genders
Pride in what gender fits best,
whether male, female, or anywhere in-between
Pride in what pronouns truly describe their soul,
Whether it be she/her, he/him, they/them
Pride in how they love,
whether it be eros, intimate love, or agape, unconditional love
Pride in who and what they are

Pride to stand tall against those with conservative views
Pride to say that love is not confined between a man and a woman
Pride to say multiple genders exist
Pride to say *** does not always mean love
Pride to expose themselves to the true evils and malicious actions
Pride to fight for their God-given rights.
Pride to marry and to love who they want
Pride to say the closet was a space they grew out of
And learned from

The closet that gave them the confidence and strength
The closet that protected them until they were ready to
Fly  
Fly through a large city,
Fly over a field of flowers,
Or a tall forest,
Or the vast sky,
Spreading their passionate colors
Bringing life to the monotonous world

The boy who clicks off the light, reads on the couch, to let sleep consume me-- or who reads beside me, metal-frames dipping low
while his eyes pour over the page.

The boy who tucks me in, acquiescing the blanket softer than peach fuzz-- like the ambrosial peaches his grandmother gifted him in the winter and he shared sweet.

The boy who always makes sure to kiss me good-bye
and fills the room with jazzy notes-- because they represent me,
though he never liked jazz much at all before.

The boy who asked me to wake him if I go somewhere because he'd prefer me to remain beside him, but he understands I have things I need to do, so he cannot always wake beside me,
a weight he can handle.

It does not match the boy who told me he does not love me,
though he likes me, and I am haunted by hollow translations
that force me to delicately dance around a swear word in the
English language like "love".

It does not match the boy who said we wouldn't have much of a relationship without ***, and I am haunted by uncertainties of my convenience that force me to stumble with the hope that our
past does not define our present.

How I feel about you, through my actions, through my words, are truer than any logic, but that might not matter
because the boy does not want to hear words that have
a weight greater than he can handle.

body parts -
the only thing separating us.
after dating,
she's crushed i'm gay.
after talking every day,
i'm crushed realizing
i never saw her that way.

several months ago, i wrote about love.
how i thought it would be fire, sunlight, a single candle in an empty room.
i built a girl to put all my love into so i had a way to let it out,
but i had never loved then, and now i have.

i love a girl with short hair and dark eyes who is allergic to all my favourite foods,
and she made me realise that loving was easier than i feared.
i love her without hesitation, without waiting, without restraint.
but when she loved me back i was afraid. i'm afraid now.

because what happens when - not if- she wakes up and sees me as i do?
she sees she was wrong, and i am not warm or kind or anything she thinks of me.
and a voice whispers above the fear that maybe she's right, and i am wrong.
if she does not see how awful i am, how awful could i really be?

she thinks i am good to her because i am good. but its not true.
i love her because of her, not myself.
i am good for her because i want her to be happy with me, and i want to deserve the esteem she holds me in.

and in the core of my heart i know i'm just scrambling for reasons to ruin things,
because i'm happy in a way i've never been before.
and i hold onto her like i am afraid she'll vanish once my brain stops screaming at me.
i wonder how she can look at me and not be repelled like i am.

but i don't think i would hate myself if i were somebody else.
if i was a stranger, what would i think?
the truth is, i don't think I'm a bad person.
i think i am loved and that terrifies me.
because what have i done to deserve it?
it cannot be enough.

i was used to dealing with myself at my worst,
to licking my wounds like a cat in silence
but now she is here and determined to stay
and i want her to.
so if she wants to see everything i will let her,
and the rest is her choice to make

your skin on mine;
we lie here

with fingers interlaced
and our eyes locked
then with legs intertwined
and my head cocked
in the crook of your neck

here is where i feel safest;
my skin on yours