I’m Here I’m Queer: Take 2

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 

Kids today 

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? 


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s