(no subject)
Given my introspective mood since I posted my coming out story last week, I dug through some old files and found a series of poems I wrote several years ago, 1995-96 I think, that I called Notes from the Closet. They were simply reflections of how I felt when I was still deeply closeted. Reading them today, it amazes me how different my life is since I learned to love myself.
Behind the cut are a couple of my favorites.
Alone
A single tear runs down my cheek.
There should be more, but they just won't come.
Lonliness is almost comfortable now.
You get used to it after a while, I guess.
Alone I can be anyone.
That's when the secret selves come out,
All those masks, the fun of it all.
But in the end I am still alone.
All those strangers, never really knowing me.
No matter how intimate,
It's never really me they see.
I came close once, to letting one see,
But at the last minute, I pulled the curtain closed,
Slipped on the mask
And into the role that he expected.
They all want something different,
So I am constantly reinventing myself.
I've lost track of who is who,
But that's why I never stay too long.
Just long enough for the comfort of the closeness.
Again
I lay there alone,
Wishing I hadn't done it again.
The pillow next to mine still warm.
Of course he hadn't stayed,
But I liked it that way.
None of the small talk, the idle chit-chat,
Pretending there were no regrets.
There were always regrets.
And it always felt the same,
Not just empty...more like vacant,
Like something had once been there
But wasn't anymore.
Behind the cut are a couple of my favorites.
Alone
A single tear runs down my cheek.
There should be more, but they just won't come.
Lonliness is almost comfortable now.
You get used to it after a while, I guess.
Alone I can be anyone.
That's when the secret selves come out,
All those masks, the fun of it all.
But in the end I am still alone.
All those strangers, never really knowing me.
No matter how intimate,
It's never really me they see.
I came close once, to letting one see,
But at the last minute, I pulled the curtain closed,
Slipped on the mask
And into the role that he expected.
They all want something different,
So I am constantly reinventing myself.
I've lost track of who is who,
But that's why I never stay too long.
Just long enough for the comfort of the closeness.
Again
I lay there alone,
Wishing I hadn't done it again.
The pillow next to mine still warm.
Of course he hadn't stayed,
But I liked it that way.
None of the small talk, the idle chit-chat,
Pretending there were no regrets.
There were always regrets.
And it always felt the same,
Not just empty...more like vacant,
Like something had once been there
But wasn't anymore.