For years I suppressed it. Terrified. I closeted my secret.
I couldn’t allow anyone to know. Truthfully, I didn’t really know.
I was aware of a difference. I felt alien. Something about me didn’t match what I was surrounded by. I wasn’t like all the other boys. Some I felt a commonality with some. Others not so much.
Anatomically I was similar. A bit more athletic than most. A little less gifted than others. I understood them. They were easy to mimic. Simple in most ways. Complex in a few.
Behind closed doors it would come out. Usually in dramatic fashion.
The older I got, the more it raged. Gnawed at me. Chipped away from the inside. Refused to not be heard. Resisted being stuffed down. Screamed until it received my undivided attention.
No longer capable of ignoring, I was forced to look. At first it confused me. I mistook it for something it wasn’t. Sexuality. Athleticism. Sexuality again.
I had to spend a lot of time with it. Togetherness dissolved separation.
Surrendered control led to self-acceptance.
Armed with self-love I cracked opened the door. Slowly I began to share this part of myself. Honest reflections exposed me to me. Confidence grew. Door opened wider. I stepped out. Sighed. Tightened. Doubted.
In doing so I took ownership over what I really am; creative.
Now there’s no going back.