I have this secret hope that I'm not really a lesbian, because I'm too cowardly to be 100% open to the entire world, that being mostly my whole family. I don't have the nerve to tell my dad that I'm a lesbian and that it's his problem that he's a bigot. I live at home under my parent's roof with this secret dwelling inside my body, and I feel like I'll burst from holding it in. Even in public, I feel like I'm lying to anyone who assumes I'm straight, because it's easier to play along and flirt with men. I don't try to dress butch or femme, I just dress according to the occasion, and sometimes it's so I don't give off any vibes of my yearnings for some lady-lovin'. I'm hiding in the closet for my own sake, not because I don't want to share myself with the queer community. It takes a whole lotta nerve to be out, and those who think it's a cop-out haven't a clue. When I hear someone utter such a statement, I almost envy their ignorance, almost wishing it were true. I'll never hate wanting a woman, I'll just fear expressing this. Whenever I go to a club or anything queer, I have this twinge of fear that it could be bombed or invade by bigots with rifles and guns. I'm almost waiting for the day that my dad will discover a diary entry, this one or my paper one, and he'll blow the roof off with his rage. Would he be angry at me for being a lesbian or that I hid this from him? Possibly both. My mom and my brothers know, and he suspects that my mom keeps secrets from him. She doesn't feel she can communicate with him anyway, plus he throws around racial slang like common words then apologises later, making no difference. If I do snap and tell him, it's because I can't take the stress of it anymore, and eventhough I'd regret telling him, I'd feel relief from witholding my secret.

I'm surprised he hasn't brought home a man for me to meet yet. I really hope not. I don't like most of his friends; they all seem like bar buddies who go around sexually harassing women then claiming 'she liked it' or something gross like that.

I wish I weren't so afraid of my dad, and I wish he were a different personality. I feel like David to his Goliath sometimes, and I'm waiting for the moment to fling my rock at him.

Soon, very soon.

As for the rest of the world, more dangers lurk in many strangers who'd find a reason to unleash their rage upon my vulnerable body, justifying their homophobic beliefs like those assholes did with Mathew Shepard. Some people just want to inflict their anger to get it out of their systems and make someone else responsible, thinking they're really draining their bodies of negativity, to cleans themselves.

I try not to worry about what others think, but then I won't see who'll strike that fatal blow.