This is my ‘coming out’
But not entirely yet.
Because the closet feels nice,
Safe, on most days.
And who do I come out to?
I don’t know yet.
My desire is fluid,
But my identity, not.
‘Find yourself’ say the therapists,
But do I want to be found, we don’t know.
This closet is quiet and mine
Made of desires, thoughts I want to hold on to.
Coming out, means letting go,
When there’s no one to let go to.
And so I’ll keep the closet,
it’s quiet and mine
Lost and unfound, I’ll remain
Till I figure how to be found
again?
