Work Text:
I’ve noticed a theme in my work as of late, everything I write is about sad, queer, love
And I know that you’re tired of it, and I am too, but happy endings are just as important as realistic ones, and at least I didn’t kill anyone off this time
I want to write about happy, queer, love, but I warn you it may come off unrealistic, too self inserty, wistful
So I sit here and write about my sad, queer, love because it’s the only one I have ever known, because as a raised-straight bisexual, through no fault of my parents own, I know exactly who my ideal man is, but I know nothing of women
As a genderfluid person, I worry that a relationship won’t work, that my man-days will turn off those who want femme, and my woman-days will turn off those who want a gentleman
I write about my sad, queer, love, because even though all my friends are queer there are kids in health class and math class and baking class, that I don’t want to know
I hear my family talk about Florida, my grandparents had a house down there that they sold to my aunt and uncle, they don’t know I will never visit, because even if I was quiet about it there would be a persistent feeling of discomfort as I tried to convince myself that my brain was not screaming, “NOT SAFE NOT SAFE NOT SAFE”
I feel “NOT SAFE NOT SAFE NOT SAFE” in my hometown, when I talk to kindly old folks that I am unsure if I should fear
In 8th grade I hung up a picture in my locker, I had printed it out but our printer was kind of bad so it was kind of bad, grainy pink and orange and black, it was a man, a famous artist, with his back to the camera, his jacket read “If I die of AIDS, forget burial, just drop my body on the steps of the FDA”, I read those words everyday, and even though we have a new printer now I don’t want to replace my picture
I’m in love with a show set in the 80s, and I need my two favorites to get together, two gay boys in small town America, in Reagan’s America, won’t make it, but I need them to so I write about them surviving and then lock it up in my soul-fridge for when I need faith as sustenance
I read a book entitled A Queer History of the United States and it made me cry, I don’t think anyone else in my English class would’ve cried
I love watching movies with my family but I’m so glad that I didn’t watch Red, White, and Royal Blue with them, I sobbed so loud that it sounded like I was going to throw up, I rewatched it the next day
I know a lot of people don’t like the word queer, but I do, I love it, though I can hate it, because I love reading old books and when they use the word queer I get my hopes up every time, but that’s not what it meant back then, I kind of love that it means weird
In Spanish class I wonder what my people actually call themselves, it’s hard to believe they say they’re homosexual, that they don’t have a “slang” word for it
There are people in my community that I don’t like, I think they’re loud and annoying and cynical, I don’t thank God, but I thank my elders for the chance to feel optimism