I’ve said it before, “You don’t know me.”
You shrug your shoulders and smirk, “Of course I do.”
You see the problem is the fault in our language. You perceive knowledge to be appearance. I perceive knowledge to be knowing. Really knowing. The knowing that occurs when souls tear down walls and reveal naked truth. The knowing that sheds wet bullets from eyes glazed over by pain of the past. The knowing where hope and dread go hand-in-hand as you utter those words across parted lips you swore you sealed.
I’ll say it again, “You don’t know me.”
This time your eyes flicker with uncertainty. Your smirk is wiped off your face like black streaks on a dry erase board.
Hands trembling, feet quaking, I stand at the crossroads of our lives. I realize the severity of the phrase, but cannot find the courage to step over the threshold line. You seem to know where my compass is pointing, but our truths do not converge as one. You see knowledge as death. I see death as life.
“I’m gay,” I finally say.
“…” your silent reply screams its accusations into my soul.
“I’m in love with her,” I breathe out.
“What did she say,” you demand.
“She loves me, too.”
2.5 years of built up trust, life, love, and family bonds stronger than steel is ripped apart in four words. You paint violent portraits of destruction and evil with words so carefully sharpened and thrust at marks only you know are exposed. 2.5 years worth of ammunition unleashed in a single night. 2.5 years of home burned down by your wrath.
It’s been over a year since I revealed myself to you, as you demanded the truth, “DON’T YOU LIE TO ME!” you screamed as I smiled with hopeful release.
Oh, how I took that bait and oh, how you gut me like a dead fish for market.
But, here’s the real truth:
I’m still gay.
She still loves me.
I guess the joke is on you and the life you pretend to live.
True Knowledge is power. I hope you find yours someday.