The first time a boy

tried to kiss me

I yawned.

I was not yet a seed.

The first time he

tried to hold my hand

I pulled away.

For years I feared

who I might be 

a woman-loving

woman, a queer, a seed

buried deep in a garden

not to flower for years.

My family was ashamed of me

and stopped talking for decades.

I refused to wither.

My girlfriend and I

were terrified. We

felt alone at our university like

tiny plants in need of water.

I refused to wither.

Coming out 

is not

for the weak.

Every plant needs nurture.