You're 15, scared at a family reunion,
mustering the courage to tell.
It's noon and your plan was to have already told
them what your lips have been dying to say.
Your grandmother and uncle question you on what you've
“learned” in school, but you zone out the moment you start to watch their lips.
Your grandmother steps closer to your white shirt,
jean pants, and pin.
She realigns her eyes to the picture, on the thin metal piece of jewelry
“...a rainbow...” you look into her eyes trying to pry out the words she's about to speak.
“Why a rainbow, does it mean anything?”
You look down as your chest concaves to pressure.
you say as you feel your head plummet to what feels like past your knees.
Your heart - your lungs - your knees themselves, so weak.
You’re so mad, you want to tell them about your girlfriend
and how happy she makes you.
But how can you tell them,
when their eyes are so sharp?
Sharper than glass.
Sharper than blades.