It Gets Better
by Joseph H. Talmage
Some of them scoff at me,
Walking past with shoulders turned,
As if they fear they may be affected.
They see me as different,
But do I not love?
Do I not have fears?
It is as if I am a leper,
Stricken by the plague of society;
The plague that they have given me.
I am but a man,.
Living.
Breathing.
Thinking.
I am not always able to show who I am,
Or these feelings I possess;
Second guessing myself,
Like a squirrel trying to out-smart traffic.
If only they would ask,
If only I could tell...
My voice seems small,
Though it roars like thunder,
Inside and out.
The other ones say things will change,
They keep saying “It gets better.”
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