The closet--what a simple term.
It's on the right track,
But has a long way to go.
It's a hideout in dim shadow,
But the constant pain, cut-off feeling,
The word does not show.
Every day, every hour, every moment,
Always hiding your true self.
You start to say something, then close your mouth,
For it will drag the conversation south.
Every meal, every drive, every chat,
Don't say this, don't show that.
One wrong move and they'll know--
Best stay silent as falling snow.
And every night, looking for cover,
The long trudge upstairs
Is a numb trek through hard butter,
So your lonely, tired soul can make a deposit
Where you sleep in that dark closet.
A/N: Written in summer 2017, edited spring 2020. I came out to my family about a year after I first wrote this, and I'm very glad I did!
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The World's Ending Now
PoetryPoem anthology made up of my poems from the past few years. Sometimes dark, sometimes meaningful, sometimes random.
