don’t tell me i’m too young to know, don’t say i don’t look gay, and don’t you ever dare tell me to change

they ask how i can know 

for sure i like girls

as if it is a question up for debate 

like you would choose this life 

just to experience the hate and

the pressure and the pain 

to know that you saying the word 

gay could come out like 

the shatter of a plate, like your 

words set off a contraption 

that dropped a life crushing weight

sending everyone into a panic state

as if you would willingly 

throw yourself into a pond of fish

as live bait

to think you would want to feel 

like your thoughts are boxed tightly

into a crate just waiting for the 

day that you can make a 

grand escape but are stuck in a

wretched stalemate.

they ask how i can know 

for sure i like girls,

and although it causes pain,

i look them deep in the eyes and say 

the same exact way you know 

you are straight.