Why I’m gay
Maybe it’s because of the memory of choking on the feeding tube that they shove down my throat in the hospital when I couldn’t bring myself to eat anything because I couldn’t bring myself to leave my room. The thought of gagging on a penis sends me into a war flashback of fighting with my mind to just eat something so they will stop bringing me back to the hospital.
Maybe its because the monster that lived down the hall was male. Making me afraid to leave my room because if I did, I would be eaten alive. I would be ripped to shreds by teeth laced with poison that got into my blood and infected my brain so that I would tear myself apart when I was left alone.
Maybe it is because of the boy who destroyed my sanctuary by forcing himself upon me not with violence, but with threats. Saying that I owed him. If I didn’t he wouldn’t be my friend anymore. He would tell my secrets. Making me feel like it was my fault because I never actually said no.
Maybe it’s because of the way she smiles, the light that reaches her eyes when she discusses all of her passion. Maybe it’s watching her do her makeup, an underrated art form that allows daily self expression. Maybe its the way it feels to curl up next to her, soft as though I am lying on cloud nine. Maybe it’s the way she lays on me, making me feel like I matter because for now, I am her safe haven. Maybe it’s the way she kisses, not wanting more, knowing that a kiss is enough to show our love.
Maybe it doesn’t matter why.
