Hide your frail pretenses
In the curves of every arc
You think that I don't know
Why you only touch me in the dark

And flinch away when I reach out
As the sun begins to rise
You stiffen up, you've given up
On looking in the light

The church always told me
(Visually, if not verbally):
"Find a man;
Marry;
Procreate.
Preferably by the time you're 22."

What it didn't tell me
(Verbally or visually)
Was that I might
Like a man
Or a woman
And, more to the point, that that was okay.

So I told myself
(Privately, internally)
"You like men.
Be normal.
Be straight.
Find a man; marry; procreate."

But since then
Time has passed
And I at last
Reflect bittterly
On my forced history.
I'm older, if not wiser,
And if I could return
To that broken, troubled girl,
I'd advise her
To be the woman
God created her to be.

So I've told myself
(Audibly, LOUDLY)
"You've got this;
Time to
Shine."
This is a war I refuse to fight anymore.

Where's the 'good'
In saying "good bye"
From afar?
Hearing of all that you were, and are
Through a pixelated screen
Tinny speakers
And an unstable internet stream

There's no 'good' in that 'bye'
So I'll save that sweet salutation
For when we meet again, my friend.