I’m More Than Just That…

Suicide rates of homosexual Individuals is 2-6 times more than Heterosexual individuals.
I’m just trying to address this in the following post and this doesn’t mean that it is based on my life. Not that there is anything wrong in being about my life, but just that it isn’t. 

Why this blade you ask? Why this decision? Why are you being a coward?

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Things are different now,
now, every single eye is trained on me when I sit In class. Any girl gets uncomfortable when I look at her, like I’m tearing open strand by strand, her clothing,when all I want was a pencil.
I’m still human
But now, I had pushed the boundaries of society so far it had broken on me;
The day I decided to “come out”,
for I couldn’t take it anymore. I was a lesbian, it was a part of me. A part I had no control over, a part that I had tried to deny existed and failed miserably at, a part that I finally accepted was integral and beautiful in its own way, a part I wanted for others to know- not because I sought attention, like many said, because it made me complete.
Oh other things ‘made me’ too, like my flair and talent for writing, my eloquent speeches my mediocre grades and with all the boastfulness, my helping nature.
but these ceased to matter
from that day on, the identity of a human was plucked from me
it was like I was a translucent bundle, made opaque only because of my sexuality.
an apparition, visible only for that.
my friends stopped talking to me. They had conveniently decided that they wouldn’t want to be known as the “homosexual gang”
those who did, merely viewed me as a specimen. All they wanted was information, regardless of how insensitive it was.
“don’t you get attracted to yourself when you look at yourself in the mirror?”
why did conversations now always have to orbit around this?
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my mother supported me throughout my life,
Our relationship used to include a truckload of laughter and happiness that I capriciously scattered to the wind back then, unknowing that time would come, when I would need that, solely from my side, to keep the relationship alive.
Ohh, she didn’t throw me out of the house, although on second thoughts, that seems to be Elysium compared to this.
Now, she no more praised me for the numerous awards i bagged in “creative writing”.
She made it very clear, every time I brought a medal home, that she would rather have me winning a new set of hormones to replace my “lesbianism”.
Her eyes bore holes into me as she carefully scrutinized my every move when I was around women, whether it was our maid or the neighbors 2 year old girl.
I was forbidden from uttering anything about my supposed abnormality to anyone,
as she made me enter the hypocrisy- reeking  superstition-infused, abodes of “swamiji’s” who could “cure me”.
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dear people out there,
how long should I live like this?  am i no more than this?
how long before these walls seem like home again ?
I’m not the coward, you, the one who is afraid of any change that disrupts your “natural and structured functioning”, are.

Is it wrong for me to find you more cold and indifferent than the blade in my hand???


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