I knew who I was...
I knew I was different at five… (My kindergarten teacher was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen).
I finally had a word for it at eight… (I consumed every writer, singer or actor who I thought was like me).
I started hating my self at twelve… (I understood the word dyke and the hatred that that word carried when my family said it about random people, not knowing they were talking about me).
I stopped wanting to kill myself at eighteen…
I said the word out loud at twenty one… (To my best friend I said “I’m gay,” her response, “I know and I still love you anyway).
I accepted who I was at thirty one… (Still on the journey of life but no longer alone, hoping that I continue to grow).