Back when they were just girls
they liked to pretend they took drugs
as they popped candy like pills in the closet.
They heard a rumor that their guy friends
would chop and snort the ones they’d stolen
from the gas station, there’d never be a trial.
High school began the real trial.
Young, dumb, eager. Still just girls.
No more candy had been stolen
but her first purchase of drugs
happened at 11th and Spruce among friends.
She hid the weed and alcohol in her closet.
Nobody knew she also hid in the closet.
Queer kid facing an internal trial.
She would never tell her friends
that she crushed on guys… and girls.
Instead, she escaped through drugs.
Some say her childhood was stolen.
But it wasn’t the drugs that had stolen
her childhood, it was the closet.
She was glad for the drinks and the drugs.
But if they knew she wanted to try all
the flirting and the kissing with girls
too, she would lose her family and friends.
She would rather be high with friends
eating grocery store doughnuts they’d stolen
than dating, adoring, loving girls
if it meant losing home, at least it had a closet.
She would play the mock trial
in her head when she was taking drugs.
One night when they were on drugs:
We think you’re gay, said her friends.
She’d given herself away; time to face the trial.
They didn’t know it, but they had stolen
anonymity, performing kept her safe in the closet.
But how could they know, they were still just girls.
Let’s win this trial, said the drugs.
I don’t like girls, she told the friends.
Softness of being known stolen, staying in the closet.
