You are the reason we stay in the godforsaken closet.
Do you know that I care about what you think of me, even though you make it clear that you have no idea who I am?
Do you know that I want to protect her from you, but can’t figure out how?
Do you know that you make me wonder if I’ve made the right decision by coming out?
Do you know that I want to prove that my relationship is just as legitimate as yours with your aging husband’s?
Do you know that the look on your face is one of a few that, in troubled times, make me contemplate suicide?
You are not gawking at a woman holding another woman’s hand. You are gawking at an expression of my love for her.
I know that the hatred from your eyes only stems from the fact that you’d very much like us to be invisible, and that we are preventing our invisibility from becoming a reality. I know you think we’re activists, doing things like this in public, but when is the last time you’ve said the same things of a heterosexual couple, doing the very same things we are doing?
You know, I spent twenty three years pretending I was heterosexual, and it nearly killed me by my own hand several times. No longer will I contort my body and my mind into a shape you can safely consume. My jagged edges will destroy you and your perfect esophagus.
The air I breathe is freedom, love rules my atmosphere, and when I am buried underneath the dirt and grace you will know my brain the way you know my name.
You will know my heart the way you know my face.