I’m looking at their faces. At their purely naked
bodies and their ability to push and be pushed.
I’m blown away. Rainbows didn’t exist then,
but the presses did and they were hot and wild
and they were lovely. I’m reading their words
and holding them up to my own heart to see if
they match; I will never be as brave.
I came out to my dad
we were sitting on the couch
watching television. I’d written a lengthy
in the notes app of my phone it
had seemed the right thing to do
at the time.
They pushed and pushed and were pushed out
of windows and onto the spikes of pitchforks
and I didn’t know. I arrived too late to have
known before. I’m looking into the faraway
eyes of a likely-dead lesbian with a sign that
I am your worst fear.
I am your best fantasy.
She’s beautiful. I would have loved to meet her,
to speak with her. I want to meet them all, every
single one. They are all of them courageous and
lovers and lovers always win. Even then.
I felt foolish reading my dad
the memo. like reciting
dramatic / I felt
really just me
trying to explain,
to figure out
how I should do this
all I should have done
was just say it.
They were selling LGBTQ postcards in the gift
shop. Though I could see a pair of rotten capital
-ist hands all over of them, I bought four in black
and white. In one, a class photo of transsexual men
and women. One of the women wears an apron and
carries a rolling pin.
My dad was quiet
“okay.” what I expected
from him the next morning
he had “googled me” so he
for sure what pansexuality meant
when I was so afraid that
I still didn’t.
I’m looking into their faces, wondering what kind of
people they were. I’m assuming they are all long gone
now. Still they are bold and beautiful and I hope that
they died in bed as someone loved and not at the end
of a pitchfork or a burning pyre. I could probably find
out their true fates but somehow that seems disrespectful
to their memories. Or maybe they’d want me to know.
Respect has to be earned.
I was so scared it was fear.
Fear that I was making this
up (to belong) or trying
to be something
I wasn’t I stayed awake all night
thinking and doing “research”
trying to make sense of it
I’d never thought about it
I was ______ or this
since the beginning
sex wasn’t something I ever
really thought about but love
was and attraction I was learning
fluid for me. That was a relief
I didn’t know I needed
the framework wasn’t so rigid
I could be with X/Y/someone all
of a sudden I could know