The Closet

The Closet

I feel like I’ve been shoved back into the closet—
and not because I’m gay, but because I’m alive.

When queer people say we were “in the closet,” what we really mean is we were trapped in a box that starved us of air, of truth, of the right to simply be. We learned to smile while suffocating. To pretend comfort while dying inside.

But here’s the thing: anyone can end up back in a closet.
A closet isn’t just about sexuality—it’s about survival in a place that doesn’t feed your soul.

And that’s what this feels like.
I’m not hiding who I love. I’m hiding my light.
Because the oxygen, the nutrients, the life I need simply don’t exist here.

People think I’m sad because of what’s happened.
No. I’m sad because this place has never been home.
It has always been a coffin dressed up as a childhood memory.

So yes—this is shock therapy of the soul.
This is what it feels like to be forced back into a space that can’t hold your spirit,
to perform happiness in a landscape that only knows how to bury it.

I am not broken. I am contained.

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