Story #722

When I came out, I wrote a poem. I gave it to my best friend, and she read it. It was all about how terrible it is to be in the closet. The last lines were, “This is not a poem, this is a true story of someone very lonesome that doesn’t belong in a category. So I am pansexual, and a little genderfluid. This was eventful, I hope our friendship isn’t wounded.” She looked at me and said, “You’re right, our friendship isn’t wounded. It’s only grown.” I love the support that she gives me, and she keeps me going.