Choked Desolation

 Abstract

Being in the closet is never an easy thing. It might look like turning away and avoiding the struggles of being different might be a better alternative. But to hide oneself over long periods of time is a lonely and challenging thing to do and an extremely solitary place to be in. This poem is a window towards that bleak solitude which many of us has experienced atleast once in our lives, irrespective of being queer or not.

Poem

Locked in fog,

So thick it looks painted on me

In the color of dread,

That even I can't see myself,

Trembling out of fear or frost

In that jolly-looking mask of paint,

Hiding the ME

In that pretty little cave

Actually, the leaky little cave.

The Mask? The Cave? The Fog?

All so cold and dry,

Except for the tears, bitter in torment,

I never knew,

Choking and leaking off ME,

Blanketing and stinging my fingers

Smeared in cold

Numb in the chill, 

Closing on ME,

Coloured in terror,

Dimly longing for warmth

For home...

But afraid all the same

Afraid to leave the Fog

Out of the Cave, 

Called the CLOSET.

Locked in fog painted on me

In the color of dread

Conditioned to hide in the leaky little cave,

Unbeknown of my right to venture beyond,

Of the light beyond

I stand weary and drained

From the agony

Of the rejection of ME

Chaining me to the Fog,

Remote and deserted

Obscuring ME, forsaken and despondent,

Trembling in that jovial mask of paint

Only to ask, "Why?"

With an answer as foggy

And blue as the CLOSET,

The only home for ME,

Ever...