Welcome to the Modern Day Attic
US History.
5th hour.
I sat in the farthest left row,
four seats back.
You sat one row to the right,
three seats back.
She lectured us about Hitler,
about the Jews lack of rights,
about concentration camps
and Anne Frank.
About how our country fought
to preserve the lives of others
whom they didn't know.
And you,
a military man.
Boy, I should say.
Destined to go into the
army,
navy,
any branch of the military that would accept you.
You defied what your ancestors sacrificed
when you whispered,
"Hitler should've killed all the faggots."
No one else heard you, this I know.
But it doesn't matter.
Because I did.
I,
the one who hears
her mother and father jeer
at the gay rights protesters.
I,
who has begged her
best friends to not give up
their lives
because of what some idiot
said to them in passing,
not thinking.
I,
who sat in church while
the preacher says once more,
"You'll go to hell."
I,
who simply wants to hold
that one girl's hand,
to curl her fingers
around her waist,
and smile in the middle of a kiss.
And it's times like these
that I remember:
closets are just as oppressive as attics,
because I may not be fighting for my life,
but I'm still fighting to be free to love.