everyone in my life

has me wrapped around

their goddamn finger.

wrapped like a piece of string

so tightly

the friction is burning through their skin

wrapped like barbed wire

with the spokes pushing inward

and blood rushing out

wrapped like a strand of hair

delicate, yet cutting

leaving marks for days on end

maybe it's because i allow myself

to be the string

or the barbed wire

or the strand of hair

but im being pulled too thin,

wrapped too far

every single day.

#poetry #freeverse #personal #emotion

Identity. The mere mention of this idea calls to mind a myriad of different things. The word is defined as “being who or what a person or thing is.” Nonetheless, the identity of a person isn’t universally accepted and can be seen differently through different perspectives. In one’s own perspective, identity is not only what is shown on the surface, but also encompasses the secrets sheltered deep within the dark corners of the mind. This is why a person’s identity can become so twisted within the world. All those around that person will only see the surface layer, the careful patchwork created to hide the art that is a person’s soul. People have a way of unconsciously ruining the fragile image of other people’s identities, leading them to question themselves and their own convictions. But when that person learns to rely on their own voice instead of the voices of others, they will see the world through a crystal clear lens.

To have a clear, healthy view of oneself is to have the key to living a life of true feeling and emotion. This concept and I have grown closer and closer over time. When I was younger, from middle school until about halfway through sophomore year, I had no idea who I was or wanted to be. I tried day after day to understand why I was not happy when everyone else around me seemed to be. I kept good grades, had a few solid and trusted friends, but it felt like the world kept moving ever forward while I was left behind stuck in the mud. I stayed put in an endless loop of depression and anxiety, always hoping the next day would be better. But at the time I tried not to worry, because I didn’t fully understand. I figured I was just weak and feeling sorry for myself. I started high school without people I could turn to and have a conversation with about the thoughts running through my mind. I was scared, and I was alone. I questioned myself often, things like “Who am I?” and “What am I hiding from myself?” I couldn’t answer these questions because subconsciously, I was afraid to let myself be who I am.

Around the start of sophomore year I started realizing things about myself that really

scared me. All throughout my life I was surrounded by close-minded people. Many of my family and friends thought it was hilarious to crack jokes about people that were different than them. Hurtful words, names, and descriptions flew past my now numb ears. Some around even pegged those poor people as ‘sinners’. I think back on it now and realize this could’ve been a reason why I was stuck in such a rut of melancholy, because people close to me honestly believed strangers were ‘less than’ because of something so trivial. So, instead of turning to them, I looked around for other people I could trust. It took a while, and along the way I formed a few relationships that weren’t good for my situation. But once I found friends that I truly cared for, as they did for me, I became less scared of myself. I had to be broken to get down to a place where I could move forward, but I had open-armed friends who were incredibly willing to help me make myself whole. These angels that I am so thankful for helped as I pieced myself back together little by little. They taught me how to cope with people who didn’t understand. I trusted their judgment, took their advice, and kept walking forward. It took lots of time, and many things tried to block the way. But I learned to persevere and keep going. I finally looked that thought from the back of my mind right in the face, and I admitted it to myself. I’m gay. And I was so incredibly afraid, but I was not ashamed. At first, I worried about what other people would think of me, if they would treat me differently or love me any less. I wondered if strangers would quietly think to

themselves that I was ‘less than’ like so many people in my family probably would. But I made myself believe that if a God is up there, he would not send me down to this Earth as who I was if he did not love me. I understand now that those who spew hate are not messengers, they are merely carriers of their own deep-seated bigotry. And why should I listen to someone who refuses to take their head out of their own self-built pit of hatred and intolerance?

I didn’t know what people would think when I first realized who I was. The first person I told was my best friend Grant, whom I’ve known for my entire life. He laughed told me that he’s been able to tell I was since middle school, and I felt so relieved. It felt like pure warmth was coursing through my veins to be accepted so easily. Over time, I told more and more people. None of my friends seemed to care, although most of them said they had been speculating for a while. Eventually, the time came when I needed to tell my parents. It felt like something was pushing me to spill it to them. I don’t think I have ever been that nervous or afraid, any time before or after that day. My dad was on a trip for work and my mom and I sat in the living room watching some T.V. show. She was laughing along with the corny jokes, and I quietly sat

opposite her, sweating buckets and having silent panic attacks. She didn’t notice. The urge to tell her was so strong but the words wouldn’t form at my lips, my voice wouldn’t work. I couldn’t even think. It was like a daze; I was so unbelievably fearful of what she would think or say. She got up to go take a bath. So I sat and built up my courage for a little while, then made my way to the bathroom behind her. I walked in, prepared to get yelled at, kicked out the house or worse, and I said “Mom, I have something to tell you.” She immediately looked concerned. I think she knew what I was going to tell her. Somehow, the words “I’m gay” came out of my mouth

between nervous laughter, heavy breaths and choked tears. She thought for a second. Those few seconds were probably the most terrifying I’ve ever experienced. It felt like an eternity passed before she said anything. I quietly shook until she said the words, “Erin. I love you no matter what.” I looked into her eyes, and the world seemed to go white. It felt like a five-hundred-pound weight flew off of my chest. The only thing I remember from the rest of that night was just a constant feeling of warmth and joy. It may have been one of the best nights of my life. I couldn’t stop smiling or crying, I was still shaking but everything in that moment was actually good. For the first time in a very, very long time, everything was okay. And I felt content.

I think back on moments like that when other people don’t take the news the same way. The happy moments of acceptance and love help to subdue the pain left by hateful words and thoughts of the past. Those people in world who are blatantly rude and intolerant don’t even realize the anguish they cause to people, because they don’t think of them as people. I remember a moment like this from this past summer when my entire family was on a vacation. We were eating dinner, and all the kids were sitting at a table together. And the only people who knew this part of me in my family were my parents and one of my cousins, Carley. One of our other

cousins, the oldest boy, somehow brought up the topic of gay marriage. He was talking about how the Catholic view of gay people is misinterpreted, and somehow the line “No, I wouldn’t want to kill all gay people” came out of his mouth. I stayed silent. And not only kids think this way, either. A few days ago in fact, a parent of one of my very close friends found out that I am gay. Her words to my friend were so hateful, every time I think about it I feel like I got punched in the stomach. Something along the lines of “I’m so glad you’re not gay, that’s just disgusting and unnatural. I don’t think I could handle that” actually came out of a grown woman’s mouth. I wanted to say something to her SO badly. Anger and hurt was bubbling up inside me like water boiling over a 500 degree flame. But I knew fighting hate with more hate would never work. No matter what I say to them, they probably won’t change their minds. They’ll say something like, ‘that isn’t about you’ or my personal favorite ‘don’t take it personally!’ Well I do take it personally. However, ignorance is stubborn. And no matter what I or anyone else says, this kind

of thing happens all the time. Those who say the hateful things don’t even acknowledge the fact that they are being hateful. They don’t realize that their words are about people. Real people with real feelings who have enough to deal with already. The collective teachings of parents, friends, and society can completely brainwash a person to believe someone they haven’t even met doesn’t deserve someone who makes them happy. If more people don’t try to break out and be a little more open-minded, we’re all just going to continue on in the never ending cycle of people struggling to find themselves in a world that already decided who they should be.

Society can make a person question everything about themselves. Every single detail, mind, body, virtually anything and everything else until the thought of even the smallest aspect of who they are makes them sick. They won’t be able to cure that sickness unless they can find their own identity for themselves. It will take time, breaking out of a mold set since birth is a difficult thing to do. Of course there will be setbacks, and it is not going to happen overnight. It’s a process that takes patience. It took me years to find my identity, because many unexpected

things will try to block the path. The search isn’t easy, there’s nothing tangible to look for.

Searching for something within oneself is a task that requires serious dedication and bravery. But once that person finds their identity, their true one instead of the one expected of them, they are given the keys to the door for a happier life. When we can trust and love ourselves, we actually have that chance to be happy. We are given an opportunity to take a higher road in society, one where the words still sting a little but thank God they don’t break our bones anymore. Once I decided who I wanted to be, I worked to make it happen. I surrounded myself with people that

supported me and started on a long trek to a place where I can love myself. I’m still walking, but don’t worry, I’m making steady progress. Not only do I want to do this for myself, I want to be someone’s angel like my friends were for me. I decided this would become my new place in society, someone who will always be a friend in a time of need. My personal identity is different from the one strangers give me, and it’s different from the ones people I see every day give me. But my personal identity is me. It’s what makes me who I am and it anchors me to the world. The things that we go through help us to define ourselves. Without all the awful people in the world, we wouldn’t be able to have the truly good and radiant. The words of another don’t define someone, that person gets to define themselves. If they choose to keep the definition they were

given, then so be it. But if they feel the need to build a new person on the scaffold of themselves and find a new place to reside in society, I wish them all the luck in the world. The only advice I have is that society can wound a soul, but only the person in the battle can allow it to kill.