The Door

By Juju

Coming out was like opening a door.

That door had been previously  bolted, painted over in  a  ‘landlord special’  kind of way– when you can tell someone tried really hard to hide something by making it blend in. 

But did it so poorly. 

That door was meant to be peeled off layer by layer.

I thought what hid behind was  my true way of loving.

And that’s partly correct. 

She did wait there with love notes and 3 a.m cooking to feed my hunger in more ways than one. 

She waited with  matching outfits and falling asleep  while FaceTiming and love  I never knew I could feel.

But she wasn’t there alone.

A whole welcoming party had gathered on the other side of fear.

Day by day they introduced themselves to me.

My own reflection came first. They asked me questions ‘Who  have we kept this long hair for?’

And when I couldn’t lie that it was for us anymore, they  asked me to cut it all off. 

And I did.

Split end(ing)s.

I have  also met others like me on the sunny  side of the door.

They showed up weirdly lounging on comfy chairs - none of them knew how to sit. Must be a queer thing.

These strangers  eager to lend a hand quicker than your own blood might. 

They made a home in me.

As I stumbled my way further, I was welcomed in safe spaces.

I danced in clubs to Chappel Roan until my t- shirt was stuck to my back, I sang to the Pop Queens like I was lip syncing for my life. 

What do you mean there are places I  can have fun  without feeling a threat?

It’s been nice to come home to myself. 

For a while now  I’ve been keeping the blinds open too- 

I really don’t mind anymore if you see what’s inside.