The Edge
A poem at midnight.
On the edge of comfort
Is when the stares come.
Ones of confusion.
Dismissal.
The “Why?”
Like I’m an alien.
I’m the me
That’s been
In hiding.
Too afraid to be seen
Because of the pain
That would bring.
Like a self-fulfilling prophecy
It comes anyway.
Right on schedule.
I try and explain
The fear and worry,
But it falls on deaf ears.
“Everything is fine”
But it’s not.
Because I’m being
Pulled again to be
Someone I wore
as a mask.
Because that
Was the only
Thing that got approval.
And love
Becomes once again
Conditional.