Words not written

This is a poem about my struggle to write a memoir about my being gay and growing up in a Christian home in the ‘90s.

In the darkness, I long to feel,

A glimmer of hope and purpose.

Something tangible, something real.

Not just a life on the surface.

The shadows of pain creeping in;

They are burying me in quicksand.

The feelings held deep within,

Other people don’t understand.

They may call me lazy and hopeless,

For I look like I don’t have a reason to be,

They forget that I am not soulless

For my soul longs to be free.

Words that long to be written,

My heart can’t reveal.

To some, the words are forbidden,

So, my soul is forced to conceal.

The world outside is filled with hate,

They wish to bury me alive.

Issues I wish not to debate,

I want to tell my story and thrive.

But this blank screen stares back at me,

Void of words that I need to write,

In this darkness, my heart is not free,

But I must push myself and fight.

For in telling my story, I will heal,

What has kept me in bondage for years.

 I need to be honest with how I feel,

And cry those forsaken tears.

Riven