There have been so many days in my life that people have tried to shut me down directly. Calling me nothing but a worthless faggot. Telling me that I was a piece of shit. That when I stopped cutting my arms, I should’ve started slicing my own throat. That my words mean nothing to anyone but myself. That my passion isn’t worth sharing. That my voice is terrible. That my heart doesn’t beat the same as everyone else’s. That I’m just an absolutely terrible human being that will eventually get what’s coming to him.

I don’t remember asking for provocation, let alone others’ opinions of myself. I don’t remember asking to be degraded and talked badly about behind my back. I don’t remember asking you to plunge that knife there. I don’t remember any of this bullshit that people try to stir up in hopes of getting a rise out of me, causing me to defend myself for who I am and why.

I promise you all this much: someday, I’ll be on stage, singing and screaming to a crowded room, where all these people will be shrieking my own words back at me. They will feel something of importance. They will remember they’re worth something. They will be okay. I will be there for them to help them fix themselves when no one else could be. I will be their guiding light back on home.

And you? You’ll be in the crowd too. Upset that now, I’m the one looking down on you.