Personal Hell (I'm Me)

I was young when it began. I knew I was different, I knew I wasn’t like that kid or you or anyone before; I was me. Me. Who was that? Who am I? That person that I see in the mirror, the person others see, the person that I want to be? I never wanted this. The pain, the blood, the sweat, the tears… The burning in the pit of my soul—my own little personal hell that I have endure every day. Why? Why do I subject myself to pain, throw myself on the coals, and stab myself in the heart? When I was younger, I noticed I was different. I wasn’t the same. My personal hell wasn’t with me—my heart was safe. I saw the blood come from the ducts of others. From my mom. From my father. From everyone around. Why I used to ask, why? I was too bust living, to busy being a kid—playing tag and making believe of times of plenty and times of heroes. I didn’t suffer in my times of play when I used to save the day from monsters and thieves. I was the good guy and I saved people. From the burning buildings, from the murderers, from the abusive homes, from the homophobia… But now that I am older, I see it was a lie. I wasn’t a good guy—I was too innocent to see life for what it was. The blood that slowly drips from the eyes around soon became my own And it joined the glistening puddle just below the surface of our collective hearts. Hearts that are now broken. Heart are not whole. Hearts that need truth and acceptance. What a sad day when my heart which is broken and needs a family is rejected because Because of something I can’t change. I was raised an honest and good boy but they say they failed. They failed themselves. They failed me But no matter how much I say they didn’t fail and that I am the same person They spit their hate and their lies, lies of hell and pain and death. I can’t change me and yet they continue to make me the monster of my childhood. I am that villain I swung a sword at when I was younger. I was that monster that I feared lived under my bed. All because I can’t change who I am. I knew I was different since I was very young. I used to see other boys and dream of being with them. Having ice cream dates, kissing them, holding them. Laughing and playing. Living and loving. Raising kids to go out and change the world for love and for hope. But, as long as I have my personal hell The baggage of the sin that choose not to accept The lies that I know are meant to bring me down. As long as I can see the hate and the ill-conceived fear in their eyes, I will seek out my identity. Who I am. I’m free. I’m me. Different from the start. Stronger than you know.