To the childhood bully who was right about everything she tormented me about:
You called me a carpet muncher, a dyke.
Now what’s it like to feel lower than the carpet beneath my feet.
They all tormented me about what I wore.
Like priests without bibles, they preached who I was behind my back.
But to my face I symbolized homosexuality and they thought it was a joke.
To them their assumptions gave them power over who they thought I was.
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree:
Even thought I swore
I wasn’t like my mother
But why did I bother?
Seeing is believing. They were taught that stepping out of gender rolls created a fag and that’s what they believed.
Preying on my every move like a family of starving cats, I was a mouse.
This only made it harder to realize, they were right.
It didn’t stop until I learned to bite the bullets they shot at me.
All I wanted was to fit in.
But they did their best to push me out.
There was only enough space for them.
So that’s when I learned to stand out.
It was a phase I was supposed to outgrow like a pair of old converse.
Only, they were my favorite shoe. So I never changed them.
I never changed into the straight girl I was supposed to become.
Everything I knew and everything I denied would finally collide.
While I’m walking on this tightrope,
I’m falling into a burning pit I like to call my new life.
And I am petrified like a log of wood as I get closer to these flames.
I was okay
With anyone else being gay
Until it hapoened to me.
It was anything but easy.
And that’s just the beginning.
There is no way
Who are gay
Can easily accept assumption in the form of insults, as truth.
Assumptions rooted from the bagginess of our jeans or the colors of our T shirts.
From the beginning we are shoved into the corner, held at gunpoint, and shot in the foot for not assimilating into the stereotypes that succeed to hold us down.
I had to learn not to blame straight people
Because I felt they were all deceitful
For making me feel ashamed
Of an insult I had been framed in.
I refuse to appreciate
Or beg acceptance
From someone who’s straight
Because there’s an abundance
Of support to be them
But not me.
Why are we born assumed to be Herero
Unless we come out as homo.
I promise the closet isn’t home
And love isn’t determined by a chromosome.
On the daily, we have to be reminded we are loved because we don’t fit into the boxes they shoved us out of.
After all, this is surely what we chose.
You once heard me say:
If I could choose,
I wouldn’t be this way.
But it’s not a choice.
I can’t just use my voice
To undo all that makes me, me.
And if I don’t love myself the way I am, who will?