Let my irreverently queer, patriarchy-bashing, black-lives-adoring art draw their eye and draw their pathetic fear from the hateful shadows of this country.
I wondered: What if I’m actually NOT queer enough to claim the label?
Bisexuality, even today, is still somehow frowned up. And I, for the majority of my twenties, was one of the people doing the frowning.
If this doesn’t dig into the troubles of the modern day relationship, I don’t know what does.
Am I supposed to stay in my home and distance myself from the gay community because it’s dangerous? Or should I become MORE visible, facing my fear and presenting a united front with others in my community; put myself in danger?
Someone scolds me, saying I should be grateful to have such an accepting mother. I could write a hundred lists about why she is a great parent, none of which include loving me “despite” being gay.
I’m still trying to understand what it means to be ‘other’. To be gay in a country, in a state that doesn’t approve nor accept someone that looks and acts and loves like me.
Hatred shouldn’t be natural, ignored, or accepted. It should make you physically uncomfortable.
I’m queer, and it’s a badge I wear with pride.