I Did Not Cry

When I first came out

I did not cry.

I didn't know

a closet door could open

and have no one

gasp in horror at

the monsters living inside.

I did not cry

when I told my mother

she had a

lesbian daughter.

I didn't know

each time she rewound

my words back

she would cry

all on her own.

I did not cry

when I yelled

at the girl with

bubble gum lips

and the boundary-pushing

personality,

“I'M GAY, DANI!”.

I didn't know

she didn't actually know.

I didn't realize

anyone could be so blind.

I did not cry

when my crush asked me if

I was gay.

I didn't know

each time I said the word,

“Yes,”

pens would not drop.

The world would not stop.

It would be ignored.

Life would go on.

I did not cry

when I told myself

I was gay.

I didn't know

what shock was

until it struck me

in the shins

of my heartstrings.

How lonely felt

until I decided to

open the doors of

my own reality.

How difficult it was

to open lips

with a tongue so

dry and say

one word.

I did not cry.

I cried

when he

came out to me.

We had all known.

He had the mannerisms,

the speech,

his only friends were bubbly girls,

he had an ego the size of his self-doubt.

We didn't know

how much a stereotype could

break a person down

until they think

nothing of themselves but

the mold they

were forced into.

The mold that squeezes

lungs into a position

they don't find familiar.

The position that has a

body scream out in pain

but ignore the yells

because maybe if you

squeeze hard enough

you will begin to breathe

like everyone else.

When he came out

I said,

“I am so proud of you.”

I didn't say

I felt his heartbreak,

that I knew

what it was

to march down a hallway

with shackles

crushing your ankles together,

that I too fell in love

with rain on the off-chance

I saw a rainbow.

I cried.

I didn't know

what empathy was

until he tore it

out of my weeping chest.

What pride felt like

when another was

alongside you.

I cried.

I knew for every ten

there was one

alone in a crowd.

I knew children

were crying because

their own parents

would cry

if they knew.

I cried.

I knew he

felt every tear I didn't

produce

and I know

he will not feel

at home in his own soul

until he learns it

is okay to be in love

with rain as long

as he remembers

with each downpour

a rainbow is growing

between the clouds.

I don't know

when he will learn

his lesson

but I hope

he will not cry.

I hope he will not

endure suffering

anymore than his

God has already

allowed.

I hope that when

I cry

he will hear it

and will cry

no more.

Author's Note

This is the updated version. I edited it a lot and I am excited about the result. Let me know what you think!

Reviews

[Extant]

I like this as it is, but I can see where you might want to change some things. It's so great how you repeat images. The crying and not crying, the rain and rainbow. Especially how those images all relate to one another and to the topic. The rain being your tears, and the rainbow (I assume you used it for this purpose) representing the LGBTQ (and many other letters) community. You also touch on what I would call milestones of coming out: first to yourself, then family, then friends. The way you structure your poetry is just incredible.