The closet is a social construct.
A construct built out of our fears.
And my closet is covered in rainbow tears.
My closet holds my past.
My closet holds my panic attacks and my prayers.
My closet hides my fear of rejection.
Every single night where I cried myself to sleep.
Each small cut on my arm that slowly faded.
My closet is full.
But if I look in the back, behind all the coats and shirts.
I see me alone and jaded.