Words have never sat on my tongue well

Never tasted like sweet juleps in summer heat

Or rolled like a Rolls Royce out of my mouth

Instead caught in the cracks of the dirty pavement,

Fallen, shattered as I attempt to say all the words I’ve held

Here in my automatic heart.

 

There is something ironic about being gay and loving cars.

Always the push and pull of stereotypes

And always my jaw wired shut with fear and confusion

Never able to verbalize all that is here inside me.

 

So much of being gay is about assimilation

Not being too much of one thing

Or too little of another.

The only way to survive is to be hammered into submission of

Archetypes

But no category fits me well

Knowledge of car models and drag queens clouds my mind

In gay clubs,

But here in a poem,

Here they make since and i can see myself for what i am.

There is no coin in which i am both sides of,

Instead i am the entire spectrum,

both and beyond.

 

So I’ll gladly paint my face up pretty

And drive down the streets of cities that hate me

But I’ll make damn sure to write about it later

To remember this moment,

The moment of the sky cracking open

To welcome me,

For all I am.