How It Is

You don't know what it's like. Being me. Being gay. All the pain. All the anguish. All the heartache, the self-loathing, the hiding, the crying, the nervous glances, the deep, dark, black silence that fills me full of fear.

Am I strange? Am I wrong? Am I bad? Will I get into Heaven? Does God love me? Do my parents love me? My friends? My family? Do I worry over nothing? Over everything? Am I worrying now?

Being me. Being gay. All the pain. The shouts of abuse. The bunched fists into black eyes. The sharp elbows into cracked ribs. Am I strange?

Am I strange being me? Being gay? All the anguish. Could I tell you? Could I live? Would you accept it - being gay? Can I accept it? Can I accept being me?

Being me. Being gay. All the heartache. The unrequited love as I look in his eyes. The shadowy corner where I weep. Where I pray. Where I shatter my mind and my hopes and my dreams. Am I wrong? Am I bad?

Being me. Being gay. The self-loathing. The dirty looks from my reflection as I look in the mirror. The purged hard-drive. The purged thoughts. Being me. Being gay. Being wrong. Being bad.

Being me. Being gay. The hiding, the crying, the nervous glances, the deep, dark, black silence that fills me full of fear. Is this how it is? How it should be? Being me. Being gay.

How it is.