I was quite young when I built the fortress—
a buttress to keep the secret from seeing the light.
I spent years ensuring the walls stayed intact,
sealing every crack formed by careless action:
a lingering glance, a misspoken word—
little things that threatened to expose the monster within.

The feisty beast was clawing its way out,
its struggle shredding all joy in life.
The desire to set it free drove me half mad,
spiraling out of control into panic and self harm.

I longed to be normal.
To be well.
To be free of this social evil.
But dread kept me perched on a maddening ledge.
Every whisper felt like a storm gathering.
If anyone found out, my life would be over.

Little did I know I had two true allies.
When the beast was finally set loose,
those two friends didn’t run.
Had I known they’d be so calm, so cool—
I might’ve shaved years off the facade.

Their acceptance was so readily given,
that the act of coming out to them seemed trivial.
In reality, a weight heavier than any I could imagine had been lifted.
Given how the shadow of that weight darkened everything,
it seems strange that I never let them know the magnitude of toppling the walls.

It took only an instant to demolish the walls
of a lifetime built with pain, deceit, guilt, and sadness.
I am so grateful for friends like them—
and fortunate to have had
so few friends not like them.