This Is Where I'm From

I'm from stereo speakers
from Fender and Gibson
I'm from the brick path by the back door
rough and chipped
it felt like it left pieces of itself still embedded in my skin
I'm from the Mantis bush
the old Oak tree
that stood as tall as I dreamed I could
it was no surprise when they cut it down too
I'm from the silent dinners by myself
and hands too small to comfort me
from Sally and Emily and Mac
I'm from the drunks and bipolar

from worthless and disappointment
I'm from sinner
never had a chance because God can't love a queer
I'm from celts and kilts
and a little place in Bexley
Dad's liquor cabinet and too much caffeine
from the chair by my mother’s hospital bed in the cancer ward
the block of metal that makes up my father's knee
I'm from razor blades and gauze wrap
the years I spent trying to cut out the parts of me that wouldn't let me fit in
from the people whose faces I don't recognize
only met them in old photos
I'm from "don't think, know"
a house but it was never a home

my father loves the taste of bourbon

I do not know why
I am too afraid to ask

if it is because the burn it leaves in the back of his throat
and the pit of his stomach
is sweeter than that of his broken body

or if it is because after seven glasses
he forgets his middle name or that
his body is even broken at all

I do not know
I am too afraid to ask

if he is addicted to the alcohol
or just being able to move without wanting to scream in pain

the only nights my father sleeps
are those when he is too intoxicated to even stand

I do not know if he even likes the way it tastes
or if it’s just familiar now but

I have never been more scared than watching my father
stagger up the stairs to our door
and throw himself heavy onto the couch

thinking
what if this time he doesn’t wake up

the world would be a better place if

growing up I didn’t have to fight myself
on whether loving her was worth losing everything else

if it didn’t take years for me to come to terms with it
and finally admit what I was
like being gay is something I should be ashamed of

if I hadn’t got the easy end of it all

if day by day kids weren’t losing their homes
cause daddy didn’t like who
they were bringing home
and

if not every LGBT was a suicide risk
but there isn’t any bliss
in trying to hide your scars

the ones on your arms or
the ones in your heart

cause
not everybody understands
that just because a man loves a man
doesn’t mean that love isn’t anything but pure

the world would be a better place I’m sure

if just because I love a girl
didn’t mean it was the end of the world

winter is coming
and I am lonely
without you in my veins
I am not whole or
happy

winter is coming
and the air is cold
without you in my lungs
I cannot breathe
or smile

winter is coming
and I can’t sleep
my bed is empty
without you in my arms
I do not feel right or
safe

winter is coming
my first winter
since you left me and
my heart feels dead
because
it no longer beats for you

I am the reason you will live forever

this is not an apology

I’m sick of saying “sorry”
when I take my clothes off for you

my body is beautiful
even if you never said so

I’m sick of saying “sorry”
for knocking back the bottles
harder than you knocked me around

this is not an apology

I don’t owe you anything
hell I never did

I’m sick of the sorries
because my lips were too slow
my tongue too fast

my hands never met the speed of your measure
the tick tick tick of your metronome

I’m not sorry for walking away
when this was only ever one sided

this is not an apology

and I am glad you’re gone

I think
trying to imagine

the look on my mother’s face
if she ever found me with a bullet in my head
the gun in my hand
finger on the trigger

is the reason I am trying so hard
to stay

I think
being the reason

someone hurt like that is the only reason I’m still here

but in those moments
I am so lost

it is after the pill bottle is empty
and my wrists are open

that I see my mother’s face in the back of my head

it is after my eyes are closed
and I do not feel

that I remember
that I cannot do this to you

but it is too late
and I am so sorry

I think
hearing my father’s voice crack
as tears flooded his eyes

when he begged me not to do this to myself

is the reason
I came home alive

rather than in a casket

because I am so afraid of what would happen

how a man who already drinks himself to sleep
would cope

with the death of his only daughter

but it is not until
I have already swung from the rope around my neck

that I hear him pleading

but it is too late
and I am so sorry

I think
that even though I feel alone
more days that I can get out of bed

that there are people who love me

people who need me and
I do not want to leave you

but I cannot keep waking up to this

my heart is heavy and
I hurt all over and

I’m tired of begging the world to stop spinning
I am too dizzy to stand here any longer

and it is not until my lungs collapse

that I know I love you

but it is too late
and I am so sorry