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Dear Anonymous (Coming Out)Dear Anonymous,
I AM BISEXUAL. And that is my problem. I don't know how to handle it. I get so nervous about it, I just repress it in the back of my mind. Forget it. I don't want people to get the wrong idea about me. But then again , what if I'm wrong? What if I say this is what I want and then I'm wrong? I couldn't even stand to know I broke someone's heart over my insecurity. My plague, if you will. I'm going a bit mad, just writing this letter to you. Bringing this problem front and center in the stage of my mind. I'm happy, letting someone in, but upset because has been so private for so long, I've grown to love the closet I left it in.
There is a yearning though. A yearning to explore, to see what it will be like. What it will be like to hold another girl like that. To hold her hand as we walk down the street, and kiss her cheek gently to say good night. What would it be like? I've only had the little experience I've had with guys, that was short lived. I had anxiety. I wasn't ha
Gay suicideHis mom is going up to the podium to speak. Everyone is so quiet that all I could hear was the piano softly playing "Amazing Grace." I think about him…I still can't believe it. My best friend. Dead. Just yesterday, he told me he was gay.
I couldn't be gay, just like I couldn't have caused his death. When he told me, someone overheard and asked me how I could be his friend anymore and I just couldn't stand the embarrassment. So I said it. I said I couldn't be friends with a fag. I said that right to his face and I walked away.
He left early; someone said he wasn't feeling well. I never thought—he was always so happy, so kind to everyone. And look what happened. Kids took advantage of him and he couldn't handle it. Kids are cruel, my class is cruel…and he was, well, weak.
His mom is beginning to talk. "My son, Jaylen…he was always such a happy-go-lucky kid. He always found a way to make the worst things in the world disappear. He was always so nice to everyone. He stood up for his friend
My SecretI have friends whom I hold dear.
They comfort me and I comfort them.
It's a shame, however, how they don't know.
They have no idea who I really am.
That's all I can say.
I know you never wanted
For me to be this way.
I want to tell you.
I want you to really hear.
But it keeps me from talking.
It is your own fear.
I try to put myself in your shoes,
But, there is no rationality.
I know I must live with this.
It's my own heartbreaking reality.
I eat, I laugh, I play, I cry.
Sometimes, I wish I could be like you.
But, you will always keep a little distance,
Because I want to be me, too.
I'll tell you anything else.
Your judgement, your fear.
They are the cork on the bottle.
If I told you, would you still care?
I can't keep it in anymore.
Please, just let me say:
Would you still love me if I told you...
...I am gay?
I Said ItThe words flew out,
after years of denial,
repression and prayer.
A warm chill consumed my person,
as much as a contradiction as I feel.
I gasped at what I had done.
Why did I do it?
Why did I tell HIM??
Why am I even asking these questions?
For the first time in years,
I feel good.
I want to shout it from the top of this little town
and yet I feel more repressed than ever.
I realize the consequences of my actions,
of my words.
You Are Still A PersonI ran as fast as I could, and I ran, and ran, and ran, and ran. I ran as far as I could. I ran until I collapsed, right in front of the church my mother used to take me to. How funny, that it should be where I end up, because it's the reason I'm running. My mother told me "Homosexuality is a sin. No child of mine will be a lesbian!" That is why I have to run.
My name is Amelia Jones, and I am the girl kicked out of her home because I confided in my mother that I am a lesbian.
I looked down the street at the few people going down the street. They probably were going home from their jobs, and to a warm and happy home. I would be standing on this street corner. No one wants to hire a woman who used to be a man. And with no job, I can't have a home. A man rolls up in a car and asks how much. I tell him my usual price, and he agrees. I get into the car and hope he doesn't beat me or not pay like others have.
My name is Elizaveta Héderváry, and I am the prostitute worki
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More