don’t tell me i’m too young to know, don’t say i don’t look gay, and don’t you ever dare tell me to change
they ask how i can know
for sure i like girls
as if it is a question up for debate
like you would choose this life
just to experience the hate and
the pressure and the pain
to know that you saying the word
gay could come out like
the shatter of a plate, like your
words set off a contraption
that dropped a life crushing weight
sending everyone into a panic state
as if you would willingly
throw yourself into a pond of fish
as live bait
to think you would want to feel
like your thoughts are boxed tightly
into a crate just waiting for the
day that you can make a
grand escape but are stuck in a
wretched stalemate.
they ask how i can know
for sure i like girls,
and although it causes pain,
i look them deep in the eyes and say
the same exact way you know
you are straight.