They established in me a firm, corrupt foundation. Concrete slabs interspersed with rebar, thick walls layered brick by brick laid with weeping mortar, I was an impenetrable fortress hiding in their hedge of protection. When the rain fell, it rolled off my feathered back without consideration. I was theirs to take and theirs to keep. My joy, my gifts, my spirit, was theirs to control, theirs to manipulate. Every personal victory of mine was repossessed as theirs. My achievements belonged to them. And my failures were mine alone to bear. Everything I am is in spite of them. And yet, everything I am, they claimed to be fruits of their labor.

And after all this time, I am no man's wine.

When I was younger, my rebellion was natural and unbridled. I would scream ferociously and dance when I felt and laughed when I desired. I would hatch ingenious six-year-old plots to get away from forces that sought to control me. That strong will was beaten out of me and I became obscenely submissive to the dogma and indoctrination I was subjected to.

My foundation was dismantled bit by bit, crack by lighting bolt crack, and when the earth beneath me quaked, I sank deep beneath the depths of my home, deeper than my feet could ever wander, and I finally knew what part of me had always known.

Neither the sledgehammer, nor the twister, or the wrecking ball-- nothing would crumble me like the rivers of your love would. I would find myself suffering your cruel intentions until I melted in your embrace and evaporated in the vibrato of your voice.

In falling for you, I climbed up from the pits of them. In falling, in laughter, in finding you, in my restoration and reconstruction, I would find myself. In my heart, a work began in me that would take years to finish and years to come. The re-wiring of my brain, the re-forging of my synapses, the reformation of my indoctrination---

a beautiful undoing.

We used to want each other desperately. I craved your skin on mine every hour of the day, to the point that I was dysfunctional in any context that wasn't being right by your side, alone with you. On my daily drive, flashbacks from the night before would disturb me while I tried to navigate around town. Touching you was exhilarating in a way that nothing else in my life had ever been. I got high on you every night and didn't care that I spent the next morning hungover. I went days without going home--your place became my home. I needed to do laundry, go to class, get my homework done, but I was a slave to the steps that led up to your door. I was chained to your bed, whipped by your lips. We didn't sleep, we forgot to eat. We were all we needed. You were the first person to ever make me feel that way, the first person I didn't have to force myself to love. The first person I didn't have to falsify or muster up affection for. You were my first and one true love. Then the distance came and we went weeks without each other, a withdrawal not even getting sober ever out me through. I longed for those rare weekend nights where I would drive for hours just to see you for an afternoon. I shook with anticipation with my hands on the steering wheel the whole way down the interstate. I made up lies to cover my tracks down that well-worn piece of I-40. Each time I crossed the Tennessee River and came home to you, I was made whole again by your embrace.

Then the day we had counted down to for two years came and we finally got to be together. No secrets, no lies, no shame, no distance, nothing kept us from each other any more. We had no more walls between us, no more barriers, no more flaming hoops to jump through. So we tied the knot and I wonder if that knot was a noose around our necks, choking out the feelings we once had for each other? Of course, I still love you and I know you love me too, but the love that exists between two sisters or dear friends more closely resembles the love between us now than the love we had for each other those breathless nights in your dorm room bed. We didn't care then, that the twin sized mattress was too small, that your roommates were home, that we had to wake up early in the morning. Nothing, not even the threat of expulsion from our good Christian campus could keep us from finding each other. The attraction between us, like a magnetic force, could not be bested. Now, it seems that any excuse is good enough for you to reject me. If this was just a symptom of age or time, and if this part of our lives gradually declined at an equal rate for both of us, maybe then this wouldn't be so hard. But I still want you like I wanted you all those years ago. I still want you like I used to want you for weeks. I still want you enough to drive three hours just for another hour with you. I still want you. I still need you. What will it take for you to remember those wild nights we once shared? What will it take to bring you back to where it began? What will it take to make you want me again?

I took three pills this morning, rolled Icy Hot onto my wrists (works better than the rubber bands used to), downed a cup of coffee (the first of what will probably be six before the day is over), and actually ate breakfast (it's been staying down lately).

I haven't dissociated all day long. I haven't thrown up all day long. I haven't wanted to cut all day long. I haven't wanted to die all day long. I haven't had a panic attack all day long.

It's just day one of my fresh start. But it's a good start. It's the little victories that mean the most.

Heavy pulling my lips to yours,

Intensifying my desire;

It comes in waves as your nails run across my back,

their agenda and mine interwining,

like our fingers on the couch.

Tongues of fire rest above our heads,

that no one else sees or suspects.

My head is spinning.

I'm hesitating to confirm what I already suspect

And in a moment you shatter all doubt

with just one kiss.

Cemeteries are not for killing,

they are to bury what is already dead.

I walk through the headstones that mark deaths I've already grieved,

sit on a memory long forgotten,

and ponder

how many more I'll put to death

to keep the grass beyond the plots green.

He's got a secret in his pocket

That he covers with a smile.

He says "I'm broken but I have joy"

and we wonder where the cracks are.

His flaws are hidden, his sins unconfessed.

Nobody's perfect but nobody would have guessed

That when he goes home, and he locks the doors,

and hides behind walls no one has seen behind,

he goes in his closet and looks in the mirror

at the shattered pieces no one else has seen

that cast shadows on his bright face

and blur lines so obvious even he can see.

You get really jealous when your best friend spends too much time with her boyfriend at 12.

You jokingly call Buffy the Vampire Slayer hot at 13.

Someone explains the concept of platonic girl crushes at 14.

A girl sits in your lap in class one day and you like it too much at 15.

You try making out with every guy you can get your hands on at 16.

You prove you're not a pussy by kissing a girl on a dare at a party at 17.

You drunkenly experiment [cheat on your boyfriend] with your best friend first semester of college at 18.

So you admit you're bi at 19.

You remember how your mom was so happy you weren't boy crazy like all the other girls at 11.

And how you kept watching the third Harry Potter because Emma Watson's boobs looked so good on the cover at 10.

And that you've been wearing cargo shorts and flannels since you were 9.

And you started wearing boxers at 8.

And you wanted to be a boy at 7.

And your parents learned to ask for the Hot Wheels and not the Polly Pocket in your Happy Meals by age 6.

And you remember crying because you were different from all the other girls but didn't know how or why at 5.

And that's as far back as your memory goes so you decide you either turned gay at 4 or you were born this way.

#gay #lesbian #bisexual #LGBT #comingout #bornthisway

He asked me if I wanted it and I said yes without hesitation. He picked me up with his strong arms and carried me to his bed. My clothes came off and his hands were on me. I knew what to do. This wouldn't be the first time. I knew what I was doing.

He asked me again just to make sure, which was nice of him. "Do you want this?"

I should have wanted it. I should have been consumed with desire. I should have had to run like hell from a fire inside me that no principle, moral, or rule could put out. I should have been begging for it. I should have wanted it.

But I couldn't want it. I couldn't want him. I played the part. The part where you lay on your back and beg like you need it when really I never have and never will. I kept my eyes closed and pictured someone else and that worked until I felt something he had that she didn't.

And just like that.

Dream shattered, fantasy broken, back to reality.

He's here and he's an attractive man and he's the total package. He's everything I wanted to want before I knew who I was. Before I knew what I wanted.

And what I wanted wasn't that.

He could tell I wasn't sure so he respectfully pulled away. I got dressed and he apologized. I told him it wasn't his fault, I just wasn't ready. He looked at me terrified and asked

"Would that have been your first time?"

I look at him, tears in my eyes, and choke on my words as they

come out

"With a man."

#romance #coming out #gay #lesbian #bedroom #sex

I pity anyone who tries to get to know me. There's just so much to learn. It's a complicated mess inside this mind of mine. I have to spend as much time out of my head as possible or else I'll drown in it myself. 

There's such a distinct chasm separating who I am and who I want to be. That's the id, ego and superego battling. Desires of the flesh dying for the sake of the desires of the spirit. Who do I feed? Who do I want to be? Will I ever be that girl? 

That duality bleeds into everything. Bi-lingual. Bi-sexual. Bi-polar. Hell my Myers-Briggs can't even report accurately because I show no preference between sensing or intuition or between judging and perceiving. I do it all. Constantly. I'm indecisive. I'm a hot mess with a cold heart. But we all know what God does to lukewarm people...

The truth buried deep inside pounds at the walls of my heart beating me pink, purple, and blue. It clouds my mind, invading all my thoughts. I can't think. It sits heavy in my chest, compressing my lungs. I can't breathe. It confuses me, cripples me, it is the antithesis of me. I can't be. I can't afford the truth. I can't bear the facts. I don't want to admit what is so plainly obvious to me. I can't say the words and give the thoughts life, but the longer I keep them in the more potent they become. I grow weaker daily. I whisper into the void, little confessions masked in sarcasm and good humor but in reality I just want to be heard and known and understood and loved. Not despite but including this bitter and inconvenient truth.