The closet for the stars.
This isn’t your 1800s Shakespearean poem. This is the 21s century rendition of the word Poetry. Type: Poem x story-telling. I hope you like it. Comment if you do. Let me know 🙂
The ’90s weren’t easy,
but then now is not very different.
When my father came out as gay
to me,
we had a long chat.
I’d grown up with two dads,
but I’d never questioned why my pigtails
were made with my father’s sturdy hands
when others had it soft.
One day in school made me question why.
When I asked,
he smiled and told me everything.
He told me about the ’90s
like it was a tragic song
with all rhyme but no reason.
He said
‘I was in the closet for 20 years,
and it wasn’t just four wooden walls
grabbing my throats and suffocating me.
It was a Narnia of nightmares.’
Of course, he made fantasy references. I was five.
‘When I came out,
things were very different. Acceptance was
a choice. Not a human right.
It got better.’
He made me understand
everything wrong with ‘time’ when it was young
and made me believe
that things will always get better;
‘the star does not shine on its first day’.
When I turned twelve
and fell in love with my best friend,
she left.
But there was no closet for us stars anymore.
so I smiled and kept looking.
I found better friends
and they stayed.
‘Something is better than nothing’
my father used to say.
I guess we have the ‘something’ today.
It’s time for everything.
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