Closed Doors

There’s a door in my room, but I can never seem to open it. Locked, the handle nowhere to be found — day after day, all I can do is stare at the dancing slivers of sunlight that shine from underneath, taunting me, calling me. Laughing at me. A broken plight, condemned to a life in shadows, with hatred lurking in every corner, and discrimination, my muse. Who is to blame? A question I ask myself, but the answer, a deceptive foe, eluding me each second, sand slipping through my fingers with every step forward.


All she did was wear her heart on her sleeve, and her pain under it. A burning love, crippling her from the inside, too scared to hold her hand out, lest someone sees. Two heady teenagers, leaving footprints by the sea, a hidden affair, threatening to break them apart. Sixteen years old, looking up at a cotton candy sky, but tied to a grey world, feet cemented upon cracked pavements, bleeding with shattered dreams and stolen futures.


All she wanted to do was love her. But two girls in love unheard of, unaccepted. A stain on society. So instead, you’ll see her, trudging down the street every day, invisible weights tied to her ankles, heartbreak streaked through her eyes. A rainbow hidden behind clouds, a never ending storm.


Women can’t love women, that’s broken, that’s unnatural.


You fear what you don’t understand, and she cowers because you’re too scared to admit to yourself that the world is greater than your narrowness.


Trembling inside closets, a myriad of colors he’s too scared to touch. ‘Real men don’t wear this,’ he whispers to himself. Yet, he’s unable to leave, knowing he’ll leave behind his identity, conform to the mould, become another robot in an ocean of suppression, the second he steps out.


‘Pull yourself together, you’re ruining everything your family gave to you’. Screamed whispers in the background, tears scarring his face. He’s stronger than you realize, but you’re chipping away parts of him, with every comment, every look. Unable to bloom, clipped buds and torn leaves, you take away his sunlight, his water, and ask him to grow.


There’s a door in my room, but I can never seem to open it. She’s stuck on one side, and he’s on the other. Loving men, loving women, loving those who’re somewhere in-between. She’ll kiss you, and you’ll wonder why she tastes like pain. Rainbows dripping off his lips, he’s quivering in the dark, waiting for someone to find him and break the door down. There’s a door in their rooms, but they can never seem to open it. The handle’s been stolen, a choice taken away. Love me for who I am, but don’t hate me for something you’ll never let me be.



By Srijaa Chatterjee




 

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