I was going through my journals from 15 or so years ago, and stumbled on a poem I wrote at a very dark time in my life.  It sums up how I felt others must think of me.  Because it’s how I thought of myself.  This, I think, is a common feeling of those who live with same-sex attraction.  At least it has been with everyone I’ve ever talked with about it–we all have tended to feel like damaged goods.  By the grace of God, I have come a long way from this place, but it still saddens me to think that this is how I viewed myself for most of my life and how I was always envious of the jar beside me.

American Spoon.02

If I were to be opened                         by unknown hands,                                        would they                                        decide to discard                                    the contents of this jar–                and file complaints                                     with Management?


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