The Rainbow Belt

It coiled around her,
a sly and sensual serpent,
gaudy in hue,
threatening to squeeze her
until she unraveled
and spilled herself
onto the hard, hard ground.

There was no moment of clarity,
no metamorphosis,
where she went from caterpillar to butterfly,
girl to woman,
normal to strange.

It came in the midst of a battle
that raged in her body
for years,
a war waged between 
the flat chest of her youth
and the rounded breasts of her morrow,
between her childhood naivety
and adult lack of scruple.

The rainbow belt arrived,
an unwelcome visitor,
subtle at first
and monstous later,
an insidious beast
the rose on stolid haunches
and hissed at her.
She tried to ignore the sound.

She knew the belt
would mark her different
if anyone were to see it.
It was an ugly earmark,
a scratch in a wooden door,
a crack in an otherwise firm foundation,
making her vulnerable for attack.

Pride.
How could she be proud?
She dared tell nobody,
not even her best friends,
her parents,
her sisters or brothers.
She couldn't even bring herself
to whisper it
into the flip-flopping ear
of her beloved dog.

She was different.
It wasn't a decision.
Who could want this?

She wasn't the same girl
if she was gay.

Disgust.
It rose like a tsunami
in the throats
of conservative elders.

Courtesy.
The polite smiles
of non-understanding
that would greet her
if she told people.

Happiness.
An illusive figure
that she hoped to see
sometime in the future.

She fumbled with the buckle
of her rainbow belt.
She could use all the tools
in her garage,
but it would never
come off.

She would be
forever trapped
in its iron maw.
She would be
forever
colorful.