When I first started college I wore my LGBTQ button
on my book bag with conviction
but now I wear it with shame
because a bisexual college girl has become a cliche.
My closet has many rooms.
I am tired of being questioned by professors
if I am gay because most of my protagonists are.
I am tired of my boyfriend suggesting we have a threesome
because we would both enjoy it.
I am tired of being the exception to monogamy.
I am tired of being a phase
when phase is just another word for slut in my case
I am tired of being painted as a drunk straight girl
my feelings for my best friend in high school
cannot be compared to a hangover
I am tired of feeling guilty
for having a boyfriend all through high school
because even though I didn’t love him
he helped me survive in a small town
where too many LGBTQ buttons
were met with violence.
When I first came out to my mother
she slammed the closet door in my face.
She said bisexuality did not exist
that you are either straight or gay
and being gay is fine
but since I was her daughter she knew
that I was doing this for attention.
She knew that I was doing this for attention.
I am tired of being a private spectacle.
I am tired of being a conversation
you save until the fifth date
I have opened the closet door but I have not stepped out
because I am tired of being a trope
but if i’m going to be a stereotype
at least make me a permanent one.
I am tired of being seen as temporary.
To my boyfriend, I am tired of proving my commitment to you.
To my gay friends, I am sorry I didn’t fight the same battle as you.
To my fellow bisexual college girls, be proud.
To my mother,
do I have your attention now?
Tonight was so odd.
I passed him in the road, pulled a uturn and caught him before he went into the apartment.
We talked briefly, and he asked me about my night…he asked me about GC (his buddy I’ve been talking with a lot), and said that GC wasnt at the hike with everyone. I said GC had been on a run and then mentioned that GC and I had gotten dinner. He made this face at me (which I call his jokingly shrewd face).
"Yeah right he probably skipped so you could have dinner together."
“You’re on drugs he went for a run!”
“Uh-huh. Well what time was dinner?”
“Uh…I don’t know….7? Ish?”
-continues to make face- “yeah okay you’re full of crap, he skipped”
“Shut up, what is your problem?”
“That’s okay, I found your replacements today on the hike - the first years are actually a lot of fun.”
*my stomach goes cold at the term replacements, even in jest* “Okay…great, glad you enjoyed it…?”
He affirms, I roll my eyes and get back in the car. He mentions something about GC again. I look at him.
"You know what, you’re so jealous its disgusting."
“I’m actually not, please, I’m the most confident person in the world.”
“Whatever. Goodnight, ass.”
First of all, I know that to be crap. Second of all, who is he kidding?
Are you for real?
“The city is different at night. Sunshine is the great equalizer. In daylight everything is more or less visible, orderly and unsentimental. Night is far more permissive. Appetites forbidden during the day are indulged. People freed from the scrutiny of daytime, transform. Sometimes this feels foreign, and exhilarating. Sometimes it’s terrifying.“
This whole not seeing you thing, not being able to talk to you thing, I’m really fucking over it.
I watched a video you put on facebook today, just to hear your voice, see your face, and it SCARES me how intensely my chest aches to see you.
I haven’t been able to find you, to know what’s going on with you…it’s killing me. I know I need to step back, but I’m aching for your presence back in my life, and I need to know how to not do that anymore. I shouldn’t be hurting this hard, I shouldn’t be needing you this much. I need to be able to take a step back, breathe, remember to be my own person, remember what it means to be an individual.
These last few weeks have just been really hard, really taxing, and as the days get close where I know we will be reunited, I am more anxious to give you my pink letter, the one that wants to know why we aren’t going out. Of course there is the chance that I will give it to you and ruin our friendship, but I don’t really think that will happen. On the other hand…this isn’t the fleeting desperate crush I thought it was.
This ache is bigger, this love is stronger than usual. The last time I felt like this…well….HE was part of my life. And there’s just a touch of cosmic to the way this feels, and those loves have the power to tear me apart for a long long time. I need to know if you could feel the same…but judging from how easy it was for you not to talk to me, I have to assume that you don’t feel the way that I do. But then again, that could be because I”m desperate, and my boundaries aren’t as strong as they could be.
Why aren’t my boundaries strong? Why aren’t I feeling secure?
Because I want to talk about my feelings and I haven’t been able to. I want to know that I won’t need you in grad school. I want to know that it won’t hurt when I leave you in May. I want you to ache when you leave me, but you and I both know that I can’t do that.
I’m also smarter than that. I know that you don’t ache for people in the same way that I do. When you miss someone, you think about them, you reach out for them. But they have to disappear for you to notice.
I need to be me…I can’t be for you anymore.
|—||Ten Word Poem #5 (via asdfghjkllove)|
You roll your mouth off him, his taste still smothering your tongue when he says, “There is someone else.”
You laugh. The last time you saw him was a year before when he forced you out of his car somewhere in Queens because you hit him in the arm. He came back ten minutes later, drove you to your dorm at NYU, and you didn’t talk for almost a year when he sent you an email saying he missed you. You thought you loved him, so you invited him to your mom’s house in the Hamptons. He said yes, so you thought that maybe he loved you, too.
You look at the clock next to your bed. It is midnight - officially your birthday.
“Her name is Jackie,” he continues.
You laugh again. Your bed creaks; through the wall, you can hear your mother snoring.
“I really like her,” he says. “I mean I like you, but it’s, it’s just different.”
This is when you ask the question you shouldn’t. “What do you mean different?”
“You know that pumpkin cheesecake we had tonight?”
You nod. Every October, every birthday, your mother’s boyfriend makes you one. It is your favourite.
“You are like pumpkin cheesecake,” Matt says. He leans on his elbow and you try not to look into his eyes. “And Jackie is carrots. You’re great, but not all the time. Jackie is good for me all the time. You know?”
This is the thing you learn about yourself in the first few minutes of being nineteen: you are much more of an adult than last year, because when Matt says this, you don’t reach your hand out to punch him in the face. Instead, you say, “I understand.” Then you roll away from him and close your eyes until you hear his tiny snores rolling through your ribs.
You are mature because you wait. You tip toe to the bathroom and lay your face against the cold tiles and that is where you cry.
You realize that you do not know what love means. However, it is here on your nineteenth birthday you realize what it isn’t. It isn’t having your heart broken on your own bed after giving someone a blowjob on your birthday. It isn’t any of this.
You wonder though why love feels like laying down and letting someone roll over you - why love feels like agreeing to lay down and die.
|—||Kristen Fiore // Wrong Ways To Say I Am Not In Love With You (via cascadingletters)|
|—||Beau Taplin (via hefuckin)|
|—||How do I say I miss you in a way that will make your heart ache as mine does? (via foreverrtired)|