"I'm me because this me
Is the only person I could ever be"
Except that's not true.
It's a simplified view
Of life when you're queer,
When you're here and you hear
What the world does to people like you
Through the door,
On the closet floor
Lying crying, wanting to be that "me",
But knowing being me means dying.
So "me" becomes. The.
Way to act. The.
Stab in the back
Of yourself,
To maintain your health,
Because this survival means maybe "you"
Will get to live another day.
But not today.
So you bury you
And walk away
From yourself.
It's better, you say,
Lying in bed
To your self
Hung in the closet,
Watching life drip away.
And so you continue, undead,
Like a vampire,
You can't see your face
In the mirror.
That stranger is queer,
Cause they're straight,
Or they're cis,
Or endosex, allo, this
Isn't you.
But it's the "you" you have to be
In order to maybe see "me".
And one day
"Me" shows up
And does not give a fuck about "you".