How long?

How long can someone feel despair or sadness

Before it changes their perspective

Before it alters a living being’s survival instinct

Making oblivion an option?

I breathe, eat, sleep and play.

However I do not cry or scream to the heavens

How much weight can our hearts bare?

And still have a will to pump.

How much weight can shoulders carry?

Before the world bends it down?

It’s a strange world we live in,

It can be both light as air up high

Or crushing as the deepest oceans.

An Empty Room

With a couple screens

So much happens today with others

Inside an empty room.

Dialogues have turned into monologues

Opinions into truths

And now that we’re finally alone

We dare think, say and do

What normally would be kept

inside an empty room.

The windows shine the outside world through

Light casts shadows across the floor

But the screen beckons

And all the things we kept inside

disappear from the empty room

They are sacrificed to the void

The empty room has lost its emptiness

It’s full of people, religion and politics

Everyone is a broadcaster, everyone is an artist

But the empty room has lost its meaning

It’s walls, that collect3d memories of the years

The play of light and shadow and the dust

The furniture of our past comforts

Have all lost their relevance

The dark has been exposed

And our light is fading.

Just by giving away

Our empty room.

The closet rumbles

How to take difficult steps

In honor of your true nature

Knowing it might harm

Those you hold dear.

“you may not break their hearts”

But what if I do?

“They’ll be happy for your happiness”

But what if I can’t be happy?

What if even after sacrificing their stability,

I fail to be happy?

What if there’s something wrong with me?

**shivers**

“……….”

I know **sigh** what a coward.

Don’t let it fester

I heard someone say

“before I came out, I used to hear the stories of others coming out and I would admire the strength to accept yourself no matter what “

And my soul trembled…in fear?

I had thought and felt the same way before, about stories of people coming out.

I would admire their courage,

And I used to think it was because I hadn’t found something about myself that felt that TRUE.

But never had it occurred to me it can somehow mean a desire to come out.

I know people might think it’s obvious,

And if you read the words, it makes sense.

But for me, it caught me blindsided.

Is that true for me?

I don’t think so, but I owe it to myself to find out.

I don’t want to be a walking zombie anymore.

I’ll fan my fantasies and whims past my comfort zone, and find out their true nature.

If they remain in the shadows,

I won’t ever find out.

Worse yet, they’ll fester inside.

Now…now …

I read it to myself

And I shiver.

The raw wound in my chest shivers

Sends shocks of pain.

I grab my chest, half expecting it to be real

It isn’t, as my hand finds my chest in normal shape

And it isn’t that kind of pain either

This is more ethereal.

It’s roots branching out to moments

An entangled swirl of guilt, pleasure and pain. Laughter and crying. Regrets.

The hand massages the chest

It feels normal but seems in dispare.

The hand pats it and the mouth soothes it

“Now now “

The closet

It’s not only about queer desires

Though they certainly live here as well.

It’s about the things that come to mind

That you’re afraid to share with

Even the most trusted of friends or lovers.

Secrets. Afraid to be even say them outloud

As if breath would breathe life into them

Making them real.

It’s fearing someone might be in the shadows

Waiting for you to fall asleep,

Yet you fall asleep.

“It’s not that likely”

I think to myself.

“But what if it is?”

With fear in my heart

I surrender to death,

And it’s sweet.

The Bystander

Racing thoughts and jumbled emotions,

A worn heart that still feels

Wrenches and tears.

What have we brought upon ourselves?

I ask, as I see the victims of injustice everywhere

Screaming to be heard.

As the impeding wave draws near

With rightous fury,

I see myself a victim of it,

An understanding victim,

a victim nonetheless.

As the pendulum swings,

Taking me with it,

I know it must swing by,

it has taken much more of them,

A tear drops at the end.

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