in the closet
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My cereal bowl holds stale lucky charms and
Milk white atrocities
Bathing away the cobwebs
Of spiders better left alone
Personalities and behavior ripped in twain between home and freedomPreferences and genders exchanged in favor of a roof overheadPerseverance and ache mark my mind but never will reveal myself to unaccepting kind Assessed the situation plenty, all
Their Eyes are on the Door (The Gay Scene)
Their eyes were on the door of clubs like Casablanca, where they wait to judge.
They clutter together like leaves stuck in a drain, old ways refusing to budge.
Walking out into the night,
I see a quite familiar sight,
that of a man and his dog,
that of a man taking a jog.
Walking on my way to school,
I see something realy cool,
