I dream about you at night sometimes,
dream about a life I'll never get to enjoy,
of neuroses I've shed, joints I've reformed,
emotions I've mastered, of a heart so close,
so painfully close to exploding from joy,
and I spend the day after, sad and morose,
searching the internet for a connection,
for a way to feel connected, reading "how
I came out" stories, and I just end up feeling
even more alone than when I started, even
though I've never really had to come out,
and it's never mattered, not even to my
parents. I've never had to deal with any
real negative consequences, just a broken,
hobbled little heart that's always laying
under your feet, waiting.
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