Luck

Today, my mom gave me the papers for online school. 
I wrote “f****t” on the line that read "signature". 
I heard it so many times I thought maybe it was my name. 
It was never directed exactly towards me, but they say if the shoe fits, wear it. 
I opened a f*****g shoe department. 
Queer, misguided, blank-eyed Cinderella. 
This morning, I cried so hard I couldn’t feel my lungs.
I thought maybe I had died since that’s how I felt.
My stomach was filled with anxiety to the point where I couldn’t eat, 
but I supposed it was appropriate considering how fed up I was.
I couldn’t stand in the shower because my tired bones ached so much from tolerating other people's s**t. 
I thought maybe my bones absorbed it and were deteriorating from the inside out.
Maybe it was my fault I was rotting.
I prayed into my shower drain for 45 minutes straight, hoping that my little sister wouldn’t be gay so she wouldn’t have to deal with this.
I’ve been an atheist my entire life.
Walking to English class was the most fear I had ever felt.
When I was 16 I took a greyhound bus to New York by myself.
Three times.
From Dayton, Ohio.
That should’ve been my scariest moment, but I remember thinking “At least I wouldn’t have had to hear the word ‘f****t’ during my last breaths.”
In freshman year, I saw a gash on my friend’s Evan’s arm.
When I heard some boy yell “f****t” as he walked past, 
everything made sense to me.
It made more sense to me after we had matching scars.
I learned to identify these scars quickly.
Hues of pink, purple, and white became our silent rainbow.
Raising our meek hands when asked "Who believes homosexuality is by nature, not nurture?" in Psychology was our rally. 
Getting death threats after the Gay-Straight Alliance was in the town's Halloween parade was our gay pride float.
Rainbows are supposed to be lucky.
I don't believe in luck anymore.