He walks through the halls with you,
Hangs out at the mall with you,
But he’s bangin’ ‘gainst the walls––it’s true––
On those stained glass closet doors.
Days blur by
While minutes stand still.
Maybe because of the things that he hides,
And he’s losing his will,
And all that he can do is sit and stare at the sky,
About to cry,
Intending to die,
But then he sees that guy
And his heart-a-flutters,
But the others
Say that it’s the love of another type.
So what, he’s not a flipping cookie cutter, right?
But he gotta keep his secret tight
Lest his classmates come and ask him who he likes out of spite.
He gets it,
You don’t gotta make a show.
He’s different and can’t fix it.
He was born that way,
But for today,
Maybe no one has to know.
He just wants to be him,
But when you come out to your friends
You become a flipping synonym
So he puts that fact on a shelf:
In his piggy bank of secrets
Time to make a new deposit,
Which isn’t too far of a walk because he’s already in the closet.
Someday he’ll lift up a hammer and SMASH.
The piggy bank explodes, but not with CASH.
How’s THAT for fitting in?
But now he’s splintering,
And the closet doors are open
For the stained glass cracks,
And he’s hoping it’ll heal.
How’s it feel?
He don’t know, he’s still reeling
From the stress, and the mess,
Probably some lack of rest
From the ordeal,
His biggest secret revealed.
Or at least it will be,
Someday, he’ll finally find the bravery.
Someday he won’t keep himself in slavery
Where lies are chores,
And those lies lie behind stained glass closet doors.
I hope that someday
He’ll find a way
To come out and say
That he is…
Performance: Showtime!, Ridge High School’s Spring Showcase