Enclosed by Glass

I feel enclosed.
Enclosed in a glass case.
On display to those I know.

I see most pointing and laughing.
Laughing for the fool I am,
And for the fool I have been.

I see the rest horrified and bewildered.
Reaching out to help, but they can't get close.
Fragile faces cracking.

I pound the glass with fists of iron.
Harder, harder, but still no cracking.
I hit the bottom, crying.

I'm stuck and in the air.
Laughed at by those who don't care.
Helped by those that do.

I can't get out.
The sadness I see is mine,
On the people that love me.

I never knew the effect I can have.
All I see in this moment now,
Is myself, tear-stained in the mirror.

Struggle #5 (Senior Year)

From the 12th grade me

When you think things could get better,
They don't...
 I was continually dodging,
Always hiding from people.

I felt worse and worse about myself,
The pattern to survive had already sunken in.
I had to do what I had to do to live.
Waiting to hear more slurs and scandals.

I felt I still had no one to lean on,
I felt frightened into a corner.
I wanted to scream,
I wanted to get out of my head.
I wanted to find someone who cared about me.
I wanted to feel sane with the madness.
I wanted to tear into some people who talked about me like I wasn't there.

The days I regularly ran,
And pretending the pavement was the faces of those who hurt me.
Running because I couldn't let them catch me.
Running because I didn't want to be this person,
I needed to not survive for one moment.

Survival was all I had...
It kept good people out.
And let me keep the bad people who said they'd be with me.

Survival daily.

Struggle #3 (Sophomore Year)

From my 10th grade self

Too many words to describe the year...
It comes down to a phrase and a word...
Heart attack and faggot...

My grandmother, bless her soul, had endured
a massive heart attack under my family's watch.
She became more a goblin than a grandma.
She almost drove my folks to divorce.
My writing became darker than noir.
My home was nearly broken until we found
her a final resting place in New York...

While all this was happening, I was, to say the least,
scrutinized at every turn of the corner.
I'd hear "faggot" every day, and it grinds
my gears while facing the grindstone of school.

The gym was worse...
I'd get caught checking out a fellow classmate
because of his muscled body and during class
receiving the backlash... "FAGGOT!"
A farmer boy the size of a gnome with his gang
called me everything under the rainbow...

There were times I sat in my room at home...
crying because I was too strong and enduring
a punishment I never deserved.

Why couldn't this year end sooner?
Why should I be hared for being gay?
I wish I had someone to understand me...

Too many words...

When I See Us as Equal

What I mean when I see us as equal is
finally being together without fear.
The fear of rejection from a job
you wanted.
The fear of being evicted and not having
that warm welcome at all.
The fear that you'll be assaulted and
can't do anything about it.

Fear dissipates, but only with time.
Fear will become a past problem
for us because we will show it
by our power in numbers.

Numbers that increase everyday
with every rising sun there is a boy
or girl coming out to show the world they're
not afraid anymore.

Fearless in every thought is what equal
is as we see it.

Struggle #2 (Freshman Year)

From my 9th grade self

Ninth grade was another new start, but
only slightly.
The torment began within two weeks of
starting.
I've had many bullies before this, but
this one was different.

He was taller and more robust than I was.
Every morning I would pass by him, avoiding
the gaze of his piercing eyes.
He'd walk up to me punched me in the arm
and yelled in my face calling me a "faggot."

It wasn't in my nature to trust others with
what was going on.
So I let him run right over me.

Months and months passed, and it
kept happening.
Avoiding him only made it worse when he did see me.
Never told a soul about the bruises on
my arms from the punching.

One day in art class, I finally broke down,
and a friend asked: "what is wrong?"
I wanted to lie, but I told her I was being
bullied.
She was astonished, and I cried on her
shoulder.

Things never got better, and I didn't feel
I could be myself if it meant being called names.
I had to hide... once again, I would live
to fight this never-ending war.