Coming Out

I read that we never get

to stop coming out.

Well I came out to myself the other day,

Stepped out of my glass closet for a
moment,

Well, not so much a class closet than one
of those

Cabinets old people use to store their
china

I am transparent, the way I hoard your gifts,

Your presents, your presence.

I never tell the ones who need to hear it
the most.

Instead I let it rest on my lips the way I wish
yours would

And flitter round my tongue the way I want
yours to,

But I can’t.

Because I only tell you in sighs I hope you
read

Or maybe see it in my gazes that linger too
long

Or notice how I touch you too often, sit
too close,

Smile too much.

I am transparent in my cabinet as I watch your hands

Dance across tabletops.

But I would never come out to you.

I much rather confess to strangers on the
internet,

Or in ambiguously phrased verse,

That I dream about you at night

And I think of you all day

And while I may joke about others,

Everything I say I love about them,

Just reminds me of you.

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