It is a sword in my stomach that I am regurgitating; it makes its way up my windpipe, splits me open, exposes to earth my fleshy prominences, penetrates veins and arteries, and destroys, excruciating, an unrelenting series of slashes and slices on searing skin there is nothing I can do
Sometimes we are beaten. Sometimes tortured, sometimes murdered. Sometimes we save them the trouble and expunge ourselves.
We die, still.
It has been three years since, but I still do not know how to write about being gay.
What I learned instead is that homophobia and homosexuality are not mutually exclusive.
What I learned instead is that I cannot save
save your self
because you can
so you must]
