son:

To my father calling me a faggot was love.

I knew that, but didn’t understand.

I never learned how I needed to be cared for.

Every stare under the magnifying glass burned my skin.

I am just an ant, what good is it to struggle?

“I’ll always love you no matter what, I’m proud of you son.”

I don’t think he knew what unconditional meant.

In difficult times some animals eat their young.

Should I count myself among the blessed?

At least my scars aren’t from teeth or claw.

No, no. We’re not animals like that.

I suppose you could call me a liar.

At least I do in the mirror,

but only on the days I can stomach my reflection.