Tell pharmacists I’m banned.
Tell the nightmares I’m not returning.
Tell my therapist I’ll be back.
Tell the preacher I’m still bisexual.
Tell God I still believe in Him,
but He still owes me explanations.
Tell my headphones thank you
for blocking out the harassment.
Tell my bed thank you
for holding me tight
when nobody else would.
Tell my diary I’m glad
she knew my secrets.
Tell my ex my body still isn’t his
and I’m sorry I still drunk-text.
Tell my other ex I’m still bisexual
and he can condemn all he wants.
Tell the Internet I’m sorry I’m addicted,
but it’s not my fault
those on other sides of screens
care more than those I can see.
Tell my mother she’s missing out
since she walked out.
Tell my father I’m trying to forgive him
but he keeps making mistakes.
Tell him I’m sorry he thinks I'm a mistake.
Tell him I’m bisexual, too.
He’ll ignore it, but tell him anyway.
Tell them all.
Tell them Harry Potter
refused to keep living in a closet
and so do I.
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