One of many...

 

It is who I am, exactly me

I stand often alone, my identity to own

Throughout life I was squashed and pushed from sight

persecuted for who I am

I lived in a swamp of damp despair

feeling inadequate everywhere,

no one, only a few did care

I knew not love or how to express myself

which sat hidden in the isolation of my being

Along darkened avenues I trod

Often not knowing where to go or who I should meet

I was an icicle in a room of stifling warmth

eroded, melted, constantly worn down

Each day began with despair 

because no one was there

I lived in perpetual fear of being exposed

losing my job or so called friends.

I lived a lie, this I now admit

And all this I endured because of your prejudice, duplicity and hate.

I now forgive but can never forget

that awful inner torment