Ashes
When you burn bridges, sometimes that's all that's left...

When cars are packed, goodbyes are waved, and convoys leave the town,
When rainbow flags are wrapped with care and hidden from the mob,
Sparkly makeup, awesome wig, perfect sequined gown,
Fond memories of the friends who gathered, marched, and did the job.
Now what?
You turn and face a foster house that never felt like home,
Deadened names and He not She and furtive bras the norm,
Shattered dreams and wasted life and people you've outgrown,
That bracelet on your ankle keeps you where they loathe your form.
I was there for you.
But I wasn't enough.
I get it, in a way, I guess - unchecked PTSD
Three therapists, parole cop, sex offender status suck,
Plus unmedicated, un-dosed, out-of-mind ADHD,
You can't leave, you barely live, every motive questioned, STUCK.
Trapped. Cornered.
Something had to give.
I was the only thing you could break that wouldn't send you back to prison.
Between lies and moving goalposts, I think you really cared,
But pain and fear, they took their toll, and drove you mad with hate,
Drowned in self disgust, you thought: well, at least she can be spared
So you broke every promise to have me avoid your fate.
But, see, you forgot one thing: friendship means I'm supposed to be there for you, through everything.
You couldn't handle that, someone caring for you, so much, when you only hated yourself.
You forced me away. You can say it was for the best, you can say you saved me from you at your worst, you can say whatever it takes to help you sleep when the nightmares hit hard...
I know you're not the only one, there are others that left town
Drove from care and solidarity to half-lives of utter pain -
Hang in there till you find the ones who stay when worlds come crashing down,
We're here, we're reaching out, hold fast, come home - be loved again.
There are safe havens. If you need one, reach out, search for allies at Pride events, we're here and will give you all the affirmation and acceptance you should have had all along. I'm begging you, don't give in to despair, it DOES get better.
About the Creator
Meredith Harmon
Mix equal parts anthropologist, biologist, geologist, and artisan, stir and heat in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country, sprinkle with a heaping pile of odd life experiences. Half-baked.


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