Over the weekend I got to thinking about some people I know who are partially out as LGBT. They have a few on-line friends who know they are lesbian, gay, bisexual or transgender, and maybe one or two non-net friends who know. Many of the most significant people in their lives do not know. Perhaps that is the best way for them right now, but I have found that living too long like that can drain us of life.As I prayed about that I wrote the following poem.
We speak riddles to ourselves,
proclaiming,
in whispers,
"I am OK"
But strapped to our backs
We bear a wardrobe,
the opposite of that portal to Narnia,
a closet that dumps us into a smaller world,
a cramped, musty place of shadows.
"I don't want to upset my mother."
"My brother will never understand."
"No need to flaunt it."
"It's only a tiny
part of me."
A part muffled in a velvet-lined padded valise,
Jammed in the back of a wardrobe,
besides dusty boxes of dreams and desires,
A place where we speak riddles to ourselves.
Comments
I'm passing for straight.
Husband, four kids,minivan, mortgage.
Although, I think the only person who doesn't know is my mother. That too may change. Oldest daughter and I have both taken to wearing Pride necklaces.
It is good for the soul and the rest of creation to be helping others across the river instead of running out of water, over the hill, and into the woods full-tilt while leaving others still struggling behind.