Dear me. I want you to SHOUT! Shout like no one is here, like you are alone in your Grand Theft Auto 5 zone. Shout like Hector Zeronie and the driver of the Zamboni who are so glad the work paid off they took a nap. Shout like you finally found a ledge wide enough to walk on and you are walkin’ on sunshine! Oh oh. Stop. Listen. Listen like your life is in Hitler’s hands like your wife tears off her wedding bands and screams. Listen like your black heart is gold and you never felt the cold because warmth is a pleasured sensation indeed. Listen to me. like I am biblical, like my words are double edged swords providing you with enough metaphors to last your nine lives. Listen as I shout my knowledge through the roof cause we’re crack headed sinners on drugs I got proof and I’m shouting! Hear me, as I whisper the teachings of sweet nothings in this life, hear me…as I deny the wrong, and imply the right. You can keep up as I turn into a natural comedian because my comedy, is the new Kevin freaking Hart! My incredible self will not be pushed down. I was 10, when I learned to let others step on me, so I would hurt less. 11, when I learned to eat lunch with the librarian. 12 when I figured out I liked girls too, and 13 when I put a foot out the door, and got smashed back in. 14 to be quiet. 15 to block everything out. 16, 17, 18 now I am learning that rejection directly correlates into this neurotic mandate that bisexuality isn’t possible. I am made into an unknown entity, one unacceptable. Because I’m not lesbian, gay, or straight. Lesbehonest ladies, you are some FINE chica’s, and you got my respect for dealing with the men that don’t think with their “head”. Men, ya got some work to do cause a bunch of you come off as jerks, and that hurts. It’s not my fault you can deal with the sheer power of my heart. My Bible, is Robert Frost’s collection of calm. He taught me how to listen, and how to shout, and how to watch before going in, and hear before going out. He showed me my stupid feelings could hold a truth that doesn’t lose meaning because he knows at 18, I am capable of loving. I walked out of the closet like the Iron Giant. I didn’t have a Hogarth, but I did have just enough self worth to skip out of there like Junie B Jones. It’s okay that your Jesus casts me off as a soulless wench and you think I don’t deserve His love. Cause I watched you punch me in the gut and say “it wasn’t rough! It was just a joke”. So now, you watch. Watch me burst free from this bubble of confinement from these feelings of misalignment as I do the assignment you gave to find my own way. Watch me as I fall from the brutality that is commonality in the hands of precocious teens as they break my dreams and shout nothing’s as it seems and listen to the sound of my screams and they call it insanity. I call it my life. The public calls it humanity. But you tell me. Does this seem right?