Níl aon tinteáin mar do thinteán féin.
At least that’s what they say.
It’s hard to actually hear them though
Over a cacophony of ‘that’s quarn gay!’
I don’t even know what that means.
I just know it can’t be good.
So I keep my head down on the pitch,
Like anyone else in mys shoes would.
To be different is to be weak,
I can’t set foot outside the norm.
Best stay quiet and just fit in,
Keep my mouth shut and conform.
It’s hard to avoid it all the time
Because their questions always come.
So I keep my cards close to my chest
And try not become undone.
In the locker rooms after football
The usual interrogation, it begins.
My heart pounds faster in my chest,
And a numbness in my limbs.
“Tell us who ya fancy.
Surely there’s a girl who’s
caught your eye?” I don’t respond,
but avoid their gaze,
To play it off as being shy.
“C’mon Cian, there has to be someone.”
The lads, they still persist.
But I don’t have a name to give them,
Because there’s no girl I want to kiss.
They seem perplexed, I’m confused too.
Why don’t I feel the same?
Am I just a late bloomer
That’s a bit behind the game?
Or is there something else at hand?
Something I don’t yet see.
I’m not like all the other boys,
So what the hell is wrong with me?
“Whatcha mean you don’t fancy a girl?
Are you one of them queers?”
I shake my head to quench their doubts,
And try hold back my tears.
They persevere with their questions
And I feel my bones contort.
Surely they can’t be right about me,
Gay men don’t belong in sport.
I take my boots, and leave the pitch,
And feel a racing in my heart.
But better be alone and safe
Than risk being torn apart.
Alone in bed, the thoughts flood in.
And I can’t keep my nerves at bay.
And I find myself Googling,
‘How do you know you’re gay?’
Sleepless nights roll into months
And each one is the same.
Drowning in my brain at night,
And crippled by the shame.
Why did this have to happen?
Why couldn’t I just fit in?
Why am I the one who’s different?
Held captive in my own skin.
Every night I pray to God, pleading as I bawl,
That if I can’t just wake up straight,
Best to not wake up at all.
We read a poem in English,
About wanting life to stop.
Stung to death by a thousand bees,
Or drowning in ten thousand drops.
And that’s exactly how I feel,
I can’t put these feelings at bay.
I can’t think about tomorrow,
When I can barely get through today.
But I’m forced to think about college,
And plan my whole life out.
Decide what I want to do next,
As I move forwards filled with doubt.
I watch the Leaving come and go,
Time to say slán to this strife.
And I find myself questioning
Were these really the best years
of my life?
College starts, and I try my best,
This is a time to begin anew.
Nobody in this city knows me yet,
Or all that I’ve been through.
Eighteen years old,
and I watch on,
As the NO posters hang from heights.
How can I be proud of who I am,
When my country debates my rights?
I want to speak out against my peers,
But I’m afraid to use my voice.
Instead I sit in fearful silence,
As they claim being gay’s a choice.
I read the papers,
I see the news, ‘Think of the children’,
I hear them say.
But I can’t help thinking of myself,
A child terrified of being gay.
The referendum passes, a resounding Yes.
Maybe my life won’t have to end.
It does get better, I hear them say.
They really seem to comprehend.
It’s slow at first, then all at once,
I can say the words aloud. Yes, I’m gay.
I’m into men.
And yes, I am proud.
In The George for the first time,
I feel at home, and I feel free.
But where were these people all my life?
When I was afraid to just be me.
The years keep going, they move so fast.
And I can’t help but look back in anger,
Because society locked me in a closet,
And fear took the place of candour.
Now I’ll use my voice, and scream
out loud, And embrace who I’ve become.
Because who the hell wants to fit in,
When I can march to my own drum?
Out of the closet
and into the streets,
Life is ours to be reclaimed.
With our heads held high
We’ll march with Pride,
Unapologetic and unashamed.
So here’s to you, my younger self,
Tomorrow’s better than I can even describe.
You’ll find true friends
who love you for you,
And you’ll finally find your tribe.
So keep an eye out on Twitter,
You’re destined
to make a sporting comeback.
And I know how crazy that’s gonna sound now,
But you belong in NGA pink and black.
Because despite all that
you once believed,
Despite all you were told.
There is a place for you in sport
You were born to break that mould.
So just be patient,
these days will come.
Embrace all of it gallantly.
And you’ll never question
who you are again,
Thanks to this new chosen family.
I must leave you now,
but I wish you luck,
Just know we can now proudly say:
That being gay is not a choice,
But I’d still choose it anyway.