You keep asking me to come out. Come out of the closet. Come out of the picnic basket. Heck, at one point you told me to throw a party and surprise everyone with my new found epiphany. Then a few weeks later you told me you had slept with the opposite sex and it was because of my inability to choose a category of human which apparently lead you to be confused too.
I told you from day one I was never going to come out. It is sad to think we may live in a society where if someone decides to date someone outside the ‘normal’ parameter’s then everyone else must be rounded up and notified. I don’t know whom you’re fucking now and I guess a part of me will always be bothered but not by which sex you’ve picked just because it’s not me anymore.
Jealousy is natural. Wanting control is natural. You couldn’t control the fluidity of my sexuality and this drove you crazy, nervous and unwilling to accept that I liked you and you alone.
A few months ago you told me you had slept with a man. I think it was meant to shock me. You who had always tried to place me into a neat, tiny box, separated from society and labelled yours. You told me graphically of how he had enticed you, pulled at you and made you, a supposed lesbian, want him. I refused to even blink or show in my voice how I felt.
After we ended you had no rights to my feelings. Instead as you proclaimed how could you like one sex and then the other; I am reminded of how you always tried to make me come out and choose. The thing is we cannot shoebox ourselves.
I met someone new after you. They have loved a man and they have loved me. They do not tell me that if I say I’m queer then I have signed on the dotted line to only sleep with girls for the rest of my life. You blame me for your sudden confusion, for your belief that now instead of marrying a woman you could end up with a man.
I was not the one who confused you, society was. Society forces us to label ourselves so that it is easier for others to understand us. Who gives a fuck about what other people think.
I’m never going to have a coming out party. It’s a bourgeoisie necessity for those who feel they deserve an explanation. No one deserves an explanation of whom you’ve slept with. So next time you phone me or text me at midnight telling me you’ve kissed your guy friend or had sex with someone you think you shouldn’t have. I will put the phone down.
Once we broke up you were free to do whomever you wanted, just as I am. Today I desire my partner and in a year I may desire a man. I am free. Don’t shoebox me.