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.
He was proof that androgyny is sexy, that it’s a kind of magic that can captivate everyone, gay or straight, white or black, male or female.
I want to dive head first into the Gay Box, lock myself into it, make a little nest of it, cuddle up in the restrictive warmth of Category.