Friday, 9 May 2014

One Minute Past Nine

Scream internally. Scream eternally. She wishes she could scream externally.

Scrunching her hair up in her hands, her mind tormenting her every move, she whispers with complete conviction, "Please."

While her family are downstairs, happily na├»ve to her struggle, she dares to cry; sadness finally steals her composure. Over time, she realises the rain has stopped: The time has come. She hears her mother call, "We're going for a walk!"

"Okay!" her voice breaks. A whimper dares to escape and panic runs through her veins, fearing her mother heard. Hoping her mother heard.

It was five minutes before she believes she is alone; the silence willing to confirm her confusion; begging her to hear the verdict. You always wear trousers. She hears a voice. You've never worn high heels. You've never wanted to. The cruel voice sneers and pokes and snipes and jabs. You always wear your hair up. "Yes, but," she responds. You never had any feelings for him. You did what everyone else was doing. "I liked him." She looks down at her hands; her blood-red hands.

A voice louder than her heart's persisted every day; a voice she's heard before; a voice that's defined by someone cynical, someone bigger than her. Someone bigger than everyone. And everyone seems to ultimately answer to it. It relentlessly presses on, focussing on every insecurity, every fear and what it believes is a lie.

Unjust, but today, spitefully truthful, she thinks.

She pledges no responsibility to the tears that tell her everything. She was, she wasn't. She doesn't care for the ignorant technicalities; she cares about the knowing. 

Helplessness defines her every breath. Like glass smashing, an invasion of shivers become the girl on the floor in the middle of her shadowed bedroom; the bedroom that feels like a cellar, despite its moments of freedom. In her head, sirens tell her there's no time.

Darkness finally completely surrenders with no fight left in it and she looks at the clock.

It was one minute past nine in the evening when "I'm gay" escaped Hollie's lips without trepidation.


It frustrates me so incredibly much that it's society's expectations that can trigger a person into wondering about their sexuality; it's not another person's decision. It also REALLY isn't down to the clothes people wear or how they behave. It frustrates me, too, that it can be a completely draining and unfairly emotional and isolated experience. I've watched a couple of people struggle so much and it's completely heart-breaking and unjust.

We can change it.

Hot Air Balloons & Picnics,

The Girl in the Moonlight.

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