The Closet

I'm lying in my closet,

And my back is to the floor.

I wait to be released from it.

I'm staring at the door.

There are monsters on the other side.

They're thirsty for the kill.

I know they smell me hiding here,

And wish to do me ill.

There are skeletons in this closet,

And they're lying next to me,

Decayed reminders of the sins,

Of which I can't be free.

A spider wanders down the wall.

I'm not allowed to shout.

I'd give them reason to peek in,

And by force drag me out.

The door is cracking open,

So I try to slam it closed.

The opener is oblivious,

To the secrets unexposed.

I'm running out of air in here,

My tiny prison cell.

There's the chance that I could suffocate,

But only time will tell.

I cannot face these demons,

Who'd devour me without thought.

They would delight to make a meal,

Out of the prey they caught.

I huddle in the corner,

Praying for a saving light.

But does God send His angels,

To get sinners through the night?

I lay surrounded by old clothes,

And old, discarded toys.

A closet was made for these things,

Not little girls and boys.

When I'm the one who's human,

How can the monsters victory win?

I'm still longing for freedom,

So I sit to pray again.


I'm sure it was despairingly obvious what this poem is about. I'll take any constructive criticism, but if you review me just to insult me about my bisexuality, I'll ignore you. So don't bother. For everyone who isn't a homophobe, please review.