fuck me...



Coming Out
2003-09-24 11:58 a.m.



The blood caked on my face,

Whiplashed and rainsplashed.

I'm exhausted enough to die, and give up all that I...

And my hair is hacked and short.

When my nails are long and black.

And my eyes are wet and red

And my brain wishes me dead.

And they dissect my facade,

Pick it apart, part, by, part.

Because they fear the unknown,

Still I know this is only the start.

And it's a struggle in this world,

For an original to be original,

And it's a job of work in this city,

For a faggot to be himself,

And it's laughable to consider,

That this is who I've become

And it's hilarious to believe,

That I'm the only one.

So I try to push myself to be who I'm not and hack away till I'm anything resembling bought.

And I am just a teen in a town

Where everything is new

And the only thing I know is how not to be you.

I'm just a slacker with an attitude,

I'm just a fag with a vendetta

And I'm just me,

Trying to be better.

So I climb myself out of the window,

And at a slow pace walk down the street and when I come back I stare down at my hair on the floor

And tears fall past my feet

I have to struggle to be me

I have to struggle to be free.

I have to struggle, and it's not me.

And it's a struggle in this world,

For an original to be original

And it's a job of work in this city,

For a faggot to be himself.

And it's laughable to consider,

That this is who I've become

And it's hilarious to believe,

That I'm the only one.

I guess I�ve always known I was a big queer. Well not known in the sense of having the slightest clue, but I�ve always known I was different. Like in grade six, was I playing hockey? No, I was baking cookies. Like in every aspect of my personality, I need a name for my quirks. I need a word to identify with and scribble down on my notebooks. So when I was thirteen I walked right up to the computer and typed �Gay� into Yahoo! The best page I found was kind of a gay survival guide. Pages upon pages of glossaries and symbol guides and coming out stories. Some not unlike this one. I devoured the entire site all along saying in my head, � I know what you mean!�

When I finally came out it wasn�t a shock to anyone, not even myself. It was more like, �oh� so I like guys? Okay, pass the salt.� Thinking back though, the first people I really told were my two best friends (at the time). So of course my scheming brain cooked up a ploy to get them to ask me. I said, lets play truth or dare. After a couple of questions, I planted the notion into their brains they would later assume was their own brilliance. I asked them what their sexual orientation was, and they both said they were straight. I on the other hand, had a different answer for them.

About a year later, when I was planning to come out to my mom I set it up so that I could remember all the exact times of everything down to the second. I remember it all so well. I expected this glorious ritual of embraces and confetti. What I got something very different. It was 12:12 am when I slipped into her bathroom and carefully deposited a note explaining everything. They next morning at 11:11 I walked into her room. I felt like I was on death row. My feet felt like they were tied down with weights and my heart as doing that brilliant hummingbird impression it does so well. When I finally sauntered into the room and sat down, I could tell that my mom wasn�t going to bring it up at all. We sat in silence for a couple minutes both plainly waiting for the other to speak first. When I finally got up the courage it was very much like coming out to a wall, except the wall might have listened. She just sat there with that characteristic blank gaze in her eyes that has become her trademark. After that day, she never brought it up again. (Bitch!) No need to make one of the most difficult tasks in my life seem like it never occurred. At least she didn�t cry, as parents continuously seem to do when they find out.

Like what, are we such a big letdown that your emotions cant even stay in your body, they have to build up and break out through your eyes? Like Jesus, I don�t know why parents always assume their children are heterosexual, because the expectations and assumptions weigh down on you more than they could ever know. I�ve never played basketball, or hockey or soccer. I made gingersnaps in my Easybake oven and sang my heart out to Aqua and the Spice Girls. And even at this time my father would always make these jokes, saying that I�m going to break some girl�s heart one day. I would always just laugh at his naivety and say, �Kinda like you did to ma?�

Then my brother tried to pull something we all knew he�d do eventually. He tried to kill me. So I coped the only way I knew how to, I wrote. And I was sitting in the dark, waiting for your voice. Just hoping it would come before I slip away, hoping it would come and stay. So I sat in the corner my face red and wet but you still aren�t there for me and I cant help but feel regret that I gave u a glimpse of my insides and I didn�t think it could hurt, besides who cares if it did. But I was stupid, and na�ve because you just walked away, just got up to leave and then I was alone again in the dark and he came up the stairs to cause some damage to take away what I had left to turn completely savage. So I ran to the door, and turned the lock then he started banging and the fear turned to shock. I tried to keep it in, to joke, ignore the shaking, and ignore the sound of wood breaking. I yelled I would call the cops and he backed off. He hid the weapon and ran off. I told her in tears, rocking on the floor in the closet and tried to close the door to take it back and hide it. But she already knew and she blames this on me even if I was just a kid I should know I�m not supposed to make him angry. But you would think it wouldn�t matter, that she would hold me and tell me it�ll be alright. To tell me that she won�t rest, until my worries are chased from my sight. But instead she told me to leave and to go live somewhere else that I should find another place to live, that I should find another house. So instead of feeling safe, I was cast away, instead of being sheltered, I was being cast away. So instead of her seeing me as her son, she sees me as child support pay. I truly thought it wouldn�t matter that I like dick, I really thought that she would hold me and tell me it�ll be alright. To tell me that she won�t rest, until my worries are chased from my sight. But it obviously did matter to her, more than her son. So I just wet my clothes with tears as I grabbed the bags to run, and maybe it will be better this way, better than if I were to stay. Maybe they will treat me like a son and not just the 2nd one and maybe...maybe I can just stop wishing for a better life, because I wont need to, because it wont include you. So I Ran. I took off to London Ontario to live with my father.

And I was content for a while when I went to live in London with my Dad, because two days after moving to London I met Brittany. She was the only light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel for me that hasn�t turned out to be a train. She was the veganlicious dyke-a-delic Ani D. freak who would later turn out to be my accomplice in all my crazy schemes and adventures. And I remember that one day Brittany and I were walking into guidance to synchronize all our classes when we saw a pamphlet for a queer youth group known as �Open Closet.� So we picked up a couple and showed up that Friday for a meeting. It was like BAM! Culture shock. Queens and Bulls and Trannies and every other person I could ever identify with. At first of course they were this tight nit group with no room for another fag and a byke, but we weaseled our bad-selves into the group. After a couple meetings they welcomed me with open arms and Brittany with open legs (which evidently was against their policy. So for the first but not the last time a lesbian orgy led to my quick and unfortunate demise). That night, after coming home from group, my father was sitting in my room, holding the pamphlet I had strategically placed on my floor. We talked for about 3 minutes before I said the words �I�m Gay.� My father, he actually cried. When I asked him why he was crying about me liking dick when I wasn�t even crying he just scoffed at me.

Two weeks later I came home to all my personal effects sitting in cardboard boxes on my bed. So again, like so many times I changed my entire life and went to live with my Mulatto aunt who knew first hand what it was like to be discriminated against.

I was 16 years old, he had a hammer in his hand,

so I took all my stuff, and left everything I had.

I guess change is inevitable,

just like me being alone,

except I stopped being by myself,

and started being on my own...

and for half a fucking year,

I was very much alone,

but now that I'm back,

I'm back on my own.

and I decided a long time ago,

to depend on myself

because I really cannot trust anyone else

all of my friends may have, good intentions in sight

but that really doesn't help me, since I'm alone every night.

now that I'm back here, things are going good,

they are going the way, I always, hoped that they would,

but now I am coming to something,

something I cant comprehend,

and I know it's a new beginning, but I keep calling it, the end.

and I stand outside a restaurant,

sign in my hand,

attacking the people,

that I think I cant stand,

and I feel like a criminal.

looking out for the cops,

and I feel like my brother

even if I know that I'm not�

and I guess I could,

give the dating scene a chance,

but every queer I talk to,

doesn't want in my pants,

and I know I'm not a model,

and I know I'm not perfection,

but I can give insight,

even if I cant give affection.

and sure these hunky bois are�

nice enough,

but they're dumb as a post,

and not nearly as tough,

and I want a guy I can talk to,

who doesn't mind telling me off,

instead of just jerking me around,

or just jerking me off

I could sit home waiting to be saved,

by a man on a horse riding off on a road quite smoothly paved,

and we would sing in the shower and fucking fuck in the moonlight,

and we would never get angry with each other, and I don't think we'd ever fight,

and then� and then we'd die together, in each others arms all day,

because of some gallant normal deed that put us both in harms way.

I think I'd like that in a way,

but life would be boring,

and I'd probably pull a David and pack up and run away�

again.

I guess that's why I decided a long time ago,

to depend on myself

because I really cannot depend on just anyone else

all of these people, may have, good intentions in sight

but that really doesn't help me, when I won't let myself dream at night.

And the way I see it, these are all instances when I came out of the closet, but none of these are instances when I really came out of my shell. My walls came down when I met Jamie. He was in reality, my first everything. Of course, purely by coincidence, one week after he told me he had fallen in love with me I told him it wasn�t working out, and we cried and he tried to change my mind, but I�m as stubborn as a mule� Well, a mule that happens to be particularly stubborn. So we decided to remain friends after all, which means we haven�t talked to each other since.

My Identity is tricky.

You know, shaky at best.

Because no matter who I try to be,

I'm always an unwelcome guest.

And I know it's because fitting in and being quiet for some is 'natural.'

And for others it's a job of work/

But for me it's near impossible,

Because I'm a guy who likes dick and because what I 'naturally' am is a jerk.

And I've noticed, I've noticed very well,

That some of the queers in pain, build these walls,

Build these shells,

Made of layer and layers of lies.

And some of the fags build these facades,

Made of layers and layers of guys.

And fortunately I unfortunately do not fall into the two.

And unfortunately I fortunately do not care which one you do.

The first one, however, makes us paralysed, and tired, and sad.

And the second one I guess, doesn�t really sound half bad.

Because even with my walls,

I'm still an open book,

With graffiti sprayed all over myself, about his first touch, even his first look.

And last month was the month I met Jamie,

The month my walls came crashing down around me.

But I guess I was built to me lonely,

And I Know I wasn't made to be loved.

So things went sour so very quickly,

And things just turned,

So very ugly.

And I once wrote, that I'd give the dating scene a chance,

Even if none of these bois,

Want in my pants.

And I once wrote that all these hunky bois are�nice enough,

But they're dumb as a post and not nearly as tough.

And I'm not going to lie, because before things turned sour,

There wasn�t a minute, wasn�t an hour�

But now it's like, like I'm hungry for more,

And I'm not talking about sex and I'm not being a whore.

But I know now that its possible

For someone's life to 'enrich' my own.

But on the other hand I fully understand now,

Why I like being alone.

That�s why I try my best to look trashy.

Because I don't want to care what bois think of me.

And I know I could become self-conscious, very suddenly,

And then yesterday on the subway,

A guy told me I was crazy sexy.

And I smiled, and realised I cared,

And he told me that he adored, my blue eyes and black hair.

So I went straight to my house, instead of his,

And shaved off all that was there.

Because you gotta know that for someone with schizophrenia,

People staring is never good.

Because mostly I wish they wouldn�t look again,

And even scarier, sometimes I wish they would.

And as if its not confusing enough to wonder if that guy is into you too,

As a gay boi, I also have to worry, if that guy might be queer too.

So the reason I felt the need to write, and just let my hand run,

Is because in the aspect of coming out,

You're never really done.

As I have to come out of a hundred different closet,

Not just the gay one.

My walls came down when I met Jamie. Who was in reality, my first everything. Of course, purely by coincidence, one week after he told me he had fallen in love with me I told him it wasn�t working out, and we cried and he tried to change my mind, but I�m as stubborn as a mule� Well, a mule that happens to be particularly stubborn. So we decided to remain friends after all, which means we haven�t talked to each other since. The one good thing that came from my first relationship is my friendship with Angie. Spawning from our mutual anger towards Jamie, was a friendship and the forming of our gang, the rainbow rangers, in which we don�t so much do anything as we drink strawberry pop and wear matching socks. This friendship is vital to my experience as a queer person, because Angie is the one who told me about triangle, and Angie is the reason I am here right now. I guess what I am trying to say is that through all of the shit and guff, I think I realized my coming out story is not just what I�ve read right now. It is my life story. From my birth until my demise, I will be coming out of hundreds of different closet from the queer closet to the broom closet. To just coming out of my shell.





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