Sitting side by side,
separated by a plaster wall,
you listen in as they whisper
about your cousin who recently “came out”
– the cousin whose standard they once held you to,
now discarded at their feet only because
she likes girls and not boys.

Little do they know,

their beloved – you – are the same.

If you tell them,

then they’ll believe

you have infested their house,

contaminated their rooms,

broken down their foundations.

You never want to hear those words of

Instead, you sit back pressed against a corner,

finding solace within the safety of your room.

You fear what would happen if you fell

in love with someone you’re not supposed to.

You feel the weight of the ceiling suffocating you

with the pressure of expectations and keeping up appearances.

Rooms keep your secrets separated, compartmentalized, contained;

in one, you may be yourself, and in another, a master of disguise.

"did you hear?"


“i’m glad no one’s

like that in our family.”

“this is just a phase.”

“you can't be one of them.”

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