His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy…
No, no, those don’t work.
Such insufficient words, so focused
on the Popular.

They don’t do him any justice,
they don’t speak to the truth that has been inside
him from that dreaded day 3 of high school, his first gym
class
in a new and unfamiliar place.

They don’t speak to how he feels now,
on the class field trip, alone with the other he trusts
and maybe, just maybe, likes.
No, not likes, likes.

The words fling out in a flurry of fear,
the shade of his face ripe for the picking.
But then it’s done, it’s all fine, smiles, grins
and the lump is pushed back down for the next person.

When the pain cuts you deep, when the night keeps you from
sleeping…
No, no, those don’t work.
Such insufficient words, so focused
on the Popular.

They don’t do her any justice,
they don’t speak to the truth that has been inside
her from the first trip to see Avengers, observing
the black-clothed, back-bending, red-haired fighting dance
of a certain scarlet.

They don’t speak to how she feels now,
standing in the kitchen with a mother making machaca
for the dinner a day or two away
organized by all the women of the church.

The words emerge in broken bits, like
the shaded drops that drip from gashed hands.
But then it’s done, and the silence is indefinite
before it ends with a silent cut as fingers slip.

You want them to see you, like they see every other girl…
No, no, those don’t work.
Such insufficient words
for this deep change she goes though.

They don’t do her any justice,
they don’t speak to the truth that has been inside
since he first put on a dress after a nagging feeling
that exploded into a tremor of correctness.

They don’t speak to how she feels now,
stepping out into full sight of a father
within the backyard lights
as she’d been trying to slip away to a good time.

The words emerge cold and calculating, like
strikes in the wars fought by the man before her.
But then it’s done and the tulips whistle out the
tune of the world that also caresses the blush-powdered
face.

Confiding in friends, mothers, fathers,
it is the turning point in life for many.
When every word counts and red, deep red,
seeps in on heated skin and watery eyes.
For all, the replies are different.
But all of them share that crimson shade in some way.

When I was in the seventh grade, I had my first crush on a
girl. I remember exactly how I
felt thinking about her: the dizzying rush, the butterflies,
secretly keeping her picture
in a locket I wore. But at the same time, I remember feeling
different somehow. I had
never even heard of the word gay – thanks, complete lack of
middle school sex ed – but I
somehow felt like I couldn’t relate to the girls in my class
when they gushed about guys.
I knew that loving a girl didn’t seem normal, so I never
talked about it.

Fast forward three years. I finally made friends with
someone who was out of the closet,
and we became best friends fast. He taught me about
sexualities, gender expression, and
all of the things I hadn’t understood when I was younger.
Finally, the way I felt was
starting to make sense. After a few months of our
friendship, I began telling my
classmates that I had realized I was a lesbian, all of whom
were unwaveringly supportive
and who I could not have been more grateful for. I even
worked up to telling my unofficial
then-boyfriend the same thing (not one of my proudest
moments, but it needed to happen).
At last, I understood who I was. Or so I thought.

A month later, I met a guy at my school’s coffeehouse who I
had never seen before.
Something about him lit me up inside, and I couldn’t quite
put my finger on it. There were
certainly butterflies, but they weren’t the same kind as
before. This feeling was
different. Still, one thing led to another, and after
flirting at the coffeehouse all
night, we decided to start dating. I was so excited to be
with him, but also confused.
Wasn’t I a lesbian? The classmates I had come out to didn’t
understand what was happening,
and honestly, neither did I. I felt like a fraud.

As I continued to grow and learn from my relationship, I
realized that I was capable of
loving a man, even if the feelings I experienced for him
would be different than the way I
felt for a woman. I also realized that not everyone on my
journey would be as accepting of
my sexuality as my high school classmates were. My mother
had questioned the existence of
bisexual people throughout my entire life, so I didn’t think
that being bisexual was even
a possibility. Maybe I was straight and had been confused in
the beginning. Maybe I liked
women and this one particular man! I couldn’t figure out who
I was, and I was lucky enough
to be in a straight-passing relationship that I wasn’t
pressured into. It was jarring to
realize how I suddenly fit back into conversations when I
was in a straight relationship.
I was now “normal”; I could fit in.

After spending five years in that relationship and dating
another man shortly thereafter,
I have still never been in a real relationship with a woman.
But even without having dated
a woman, I have had feelings for them throughout my life,
feelings that are absolutely
real. The difference of feeling I experience for different
genders has never gone away,
but I have realized that different feelings are not invalid
feelings. This difference,
however, has made the term bisexual (a term that would
usually be ascribed to my
sexuality) resonate less with me, so I choose not to label
myself. While there are a
myriad of terms that I could choose from as a label, I would
rather be open to the fact
that sexuality is fluid, and who I identify as can always
change. I am proud to be who I
am, and proud to support the incredible and diverse spectrum
of identities that exist
under the umbrella of sexuality. I don’t have to define
myself by any words that don’t
suit me, even if the reason they don’t is simply how it
feels to say them.

Of course, because of my straight-passing relationships and
my choice to avoid labelling
myself, I have never been subject to so many of the
challenges that many members of the
LGBTQ+ community face on a daily basis. I have been afforded
the option to not come out to
my family, because my relationships have not made this
difficult, nerve-wracking process a
necessity. I am not stared at for holding hands with the
person I love or treated any
differently when I introduce my partner to someone. The
privilege I hold as a
straight-passing person is immense, and it has allowed me to
stay halfway in the closet. I
am afforded the opportunity to choose who I come out to, and
so far, I have only come out
to people who make me feel extremely safe. So many people do
not have this option.

If you are reading this as an ally, I can’t express how
important your support is for the
LGBTQ + community. For those of us with a choice to come out
or stay hidden, your support
and voice might be the reason we are able to come out to
someone and be our authentic
selves. Whether we label ourselves or not, supportive
acceptance is the key for everyone
to be able to love who they want to love. And really, isn’t
more love exactly what the
world needs? I certainly think so.