The count.

A bell in the back of my mind,
It keeps counts,
one, two, three,
The numbers are lost on me now
Stitching itself onto my skin,my eyes
my conscience, my love.
The closet I finally opened
has locked me from inside
In a bigger, vulnerable, scarier closet.
I have nightmares of how people
look at me, like
A person that doesn't deserve to love
Or to be loved.
All because of the gender I chose.
Four, five, six,
I live in a bed of lies, the pillows
Have collected the truths I cry about,
My sexuality is hidden under the carpet
Of understanding
It screams everytime someone knocks on the door
Only to be muffled by fibres of insecurity
And lack of reassurance.
Seven, eight, nine
I could see the change in people's eyes
When I finally walked out
They never looked at me the same.
My heart pushed me forward
Telling me I deserve everything
I deserve to experience as much as the next person
My life was in shackles but my heart was free
And little by little, it helped to
Cover all the cracks, scratches
And leaks
To create a life with no doors.
A life where we all
laughed together, smiled through sunsets, comforted each other in pain, cried when life didn't feel good,
And empathised without switching over
to a sudden realisation that I was who I was.
Though the light at the end of the door
was a reality I knew about
The kiss of my lover, the happy nudge of a dear friend,
The supportive pats from kin,
The unwavering belief that
I finally knew myself
Helped me walk towards the light.
And did you notice how
The bell had stopped ringing.




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