Growing Up

Growing up, my voice was silenced.
Silenced in a dark closet
Filled with fear, secrets, and pain.
Pain that was overwhelming, suffocating, enclosed in bondage,,
Bondage that stifled my very existence.
Growing up, I was not a citizen in my own house,
My house that was filled with confusion, torment, rage.
Rage that caused me to question my worth, my value, my desires.
Desires that caused me to question my heteronormative identity,
Identity is my broken record.
Growing up I struggled to fight against being marked as someone different,
Different in every sense of attractions, hobbies, being a “normal human being”
A normal human being that forced me to desire the dreams of white picket fences, 2.5 kids, and a financially wealthy existence like the lifetime movies of old taught us, guided us.
Guided me.
Guiding me into a frightening existence that heteronormal, societal self proclaimed gurus stabbed me with left and right, up and down, all directions of my consciousness and soul.
My soul, fragile, confused, empty like a wine glass that should be filled with great essence, fruit of success, what an imaginary fairytale.
A fairytale that questions me, have I ever grown up?
Growing up, I felt sharp blades across my arms, wrists, and my spirit.
A spirit that continues to feel broken every day, with the auditory hallucinations of my past, telling me I’m ugly, a faggot, a deviant, a damaged fallen angel.
A fallen angel who one day may meet hell and meet the demons of my past face to face.
Face to face,
Face the truth.
Growing up I conquered the world of torment, beatings, rapes, and bullies.
Bullies who thought they had complete control of me, binding me like a lost soul, a social plague.
A plague that destroyed everyone or everything I met, embraced, kissed.
And Kissed
Oh how I adore being kissed not by strangers, but all people who live in torment, like me,
Sad with lost affection.
Affection that heals the world, not break it apart.
Affection that brings the hated together, to create a world of peace, harmony, tranquility.
Tranquility that empowers a better tomorrow, healing everyone who feels like a victim, a battered child in the wilderness, or a misfit toy lost on their own island.
Growing up my voice was silenced, but my voice now sings in harmony, creating a light at the end of the tunnel of self destruction.
Crowing up.
Growing up.
Growing up.


Journey to the Rainbow’s End

Our journey through life can be a challenging one. Filled with self discovery, heart ache, and love. This is my story. I am sure many of you can relate. Take a journey with me. #adragqueensodyssey

Realistic Poetry International

Rave Reviews Book Club




GHOSTS by Forrest Stepnowski

Ghosts of my past follow me with righteousnes and fanfare,
Why so many wants when so many nights have gone by in the bleak mid winter,
I am not the same as I once was back in the day of frivolity and sexual myrth,
What am i truly to your heart,
How do you really see me in this shattered reflection of broken dreams?
A speakeasy to play and dance around to relieve tension or loneliness,
Or a quite and still temple for your love and understanding,
There are multiples here at my window of memories,
Ghosts of joy, ghosts of heart break,
Why must they all haunt all at once,
Do they enjoy seeing me squirm in the silent horror of my being,
What do they want I ask over and over again,
I am merely a perfectionist made by multitudes of mistakes,
Who cannot seem to connect the dots of my dreams, wishes, and needs,
Like a toy train running round and round,
Repeating patterns that continue to haunt my darkest desires… and darkest secrets,
Ghosts… of childhood play and adolescent angst,
Let my soul rest and the dream begin,
Let the ghosts of my past be my wisdom within.