Special

I knew you were Something special One year Eight months And nine days ago when I first saw your beauty soaring over social norms with gilded wings; You could never touch the ground. Your laugh made my skeleton smile. Your perfume blurred my affections. I wondered what your skin would feel like How your feathers would tickle my fingertips How your waist would fit beneath my arms but the word gay was absent from my vocabulary. We were friends who held hands in public And bought each other ice cream And danced to Mumford and Sons in the town square until the day Your lips whispered “what if” "what if we" "what if" we kissed to mine and your mind decided it was time to play harp on my heartstrings. I thought the song was sweet then Now I can see that all the notes were sour. One moment I was convinced that maybe I had a glimpse of who I was and the next it fled out of my vision I didn't know what I felt or who I was or how I got to this position. My skin with crawling with the word “lesbian” My tongue shaking as it rolled out of my mouth like a sin My bones quaking when I saw my pastor Wondering if he could see my faults through my eyes. I spent six weeks wrestling with the taste of your bubblegum crawling toward my closet An Auschwitz prisoner to my Nazi insecurities, All while your fingers clutched on your bible and you flicked your wrist up When you saw me coming to you Sunday morning I lost the road map to the two way relationship street. Blue light stinging my retinas and Seventeen hours in a metal box Made me comprehend Rebellion. You owe me every kiss that I crushed on your lips Every moment I stole from my relationships to be with you Every fluid ounce of my soul I poured into those poems Every night you pressed your tongue down a guys’ throat on my couch And I’m taking back every breath I gave you after you declared your parents to be smothering. You used me to have a break from your Baptist branded Christian living, To get a little pleasure, a little rush from the forbidden fruit of my body You led me on to become a key Just around to open the locks surrounding stereotypical southern existence I am not an object And I will never allow you to reduce me to begging for you When I was obviously Nothing Special