#lgbtg
In pews where hymns rose high like sacred walls,
Young Michael grew, his tender spirit warm.
Beside him stood dear Graham through it all,
A boy whose storm-lit eyes became his storm.
Soft whispers turned to nights of quiet grace,
A sleepover, their fingers intertwined.
Beneath the sheets, in shadow’s fragile space,
Their lips confessed what words could never find.
Then thunder split the stillness of that room,
A father’s rage, a faith turned sharp and loud.
Old scripture roared of sin, of fire, of doom,
As love lay trembling, naked and unbowed.
Be fixed or lose this home, this name.
God does not bless the love that you defend.
A camp to cleanse, to treat the shame,
Or exile to a cold, forsaken end.
At sixteen, soft and afraid of being cast,
He chose the path that broke him from within.
Where cruel words fell like stones too hard, too fast,
And taught his heart that love itself was sin.
Long nights of hollow prayers and borrowed lies,
Where self was stripped and hope was torn apart.
Till one bleak dawn beneath unyielding skies,
He fled to save the fragments of his heart.
In Sam’s embrace, in a borrowed room of a friend,
He found a fragile peace he thought was gone.
No sin in love that did not need to bend,
Just truth that asked to simply carry on.
But word returned, and with it came the cut,
A father’s love withdrawn beneath God’s name.
While kneeling still in church, devout and shut,
He prayed yet never eased his own son’s pain.
Now Michael walks beneath the quiet night,
Still longing just to live, to be and breathe.
Not wrong nor broken only seeking light,
In love that does not wound, nor make him grieve.
Apr 4
Apr 4, 2026 at 3:12 AM UTC