At Least…

Posted By: Rusham Sharma

Hush, I listen.

“It’s like when you like a particular book of an uncommon genre

I haven’t read it

You talk about it once, I’ll listen

Talk about it twice, I’ll hear it out

You say it again and again, I’m bound to get tired!”

Hush, I stay quiet, like always.

At least he isn’t homophobic.

At least he didn’t ignore me.

At least he talks to me.

At least he didn’t abandon me.

A story of at leasts,

Story of losing friends

Story of not coming out, but crawling out and getting in when scared

It’s suffocating, dark and lonesome

The silence inside the closet silences

But at least it is safe

At least, at least, at least.

He turned my questions into a book

A genre half of the people identify with

That half becomes uncommon

Uncommon not because it’s unnatural or “just a phase”

Uncommon because I know why, I really do

For it’s found either on the internet or in closets

Not at a family dinner, neither at a classroom

They say it’s millennial culture, but is it?

A genre that goes from Troye Sivan to Nanette to Queer Eye to Love, Simon ; but stops right there.

Millennials hardly make it easier for us,

They make it subtle,

They make it hard to find,

They make it a story of at leasts.

My coming out doesn’t need your disgust or hatred or silence,

Or your performative wokeness that lasts shorter than my “gay phase”;

It doesn’t need your ‘Cool, I don’t care’,

We’ve been scared for too long for that

It at least needs a hug.

At least.

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