Kissing him was like sweeping the floor, there was nothing special to it, no sparks or fireworks, no tingles in my tummy. Just something that felt like a chore, and I must admit I never really did like doing chores, but I knew I had to do them, but this this was different I didn't have to do anything. But it was so much easier than being gay, and so I pretended to love him, and in the process I hurt him and all because I was too selfish too come out-
too afraid.
And now he's all broken and doesn't trust anyone, and it all began with me not trusting anyone to accept me.
YOU ARE READING
From The Attic (poetry)
ПоэзияFrom the attic is a book with thoughts and qoutes and countless poems I've stringed together with the scattered words in my mind. any
