I'm Bisexual

“There’s no such thing as a singular ‘they’”

This is what my high school English teacher would say.

I want to shout,

but if I get another detention

I’ll be expelled.

Father tells me to stop raising hell,

but how am I supposed to behave,

when I was raised in a hell

where I’m not even allowed to be myself?

And I hate confrontation.

I avoid confrontation,

which is why I never dare to discuss

religion or sexual orientation.

I don’t tell people that I’m bisexual.

I’ve never met a single person that I can trust.

I know how these people work and I know that if I opened up,

they’d tell me that my feelings aren’t real.

“You’re indecisive.”

“You just want more options.”

“Don’t be silly, honey. It’s a phase."

I want to shout,

but can't find my target within this angry, red haze.

So I write instead.

My whole identity feels like some crazy hostage situation.

And then there's you, Mom.

You said I could talk to you about anything.

The day that love won, I cried.

I’d never been so overwhelmingly happy in my life.

God, Mom.

I’d have given anything to be able to share that with you.

Anything.

But that night at the dinner table

I didn’t finish my meal.

I wasn’t able.

I told you I was going out,

but I sat in the driver’s seat of my car in the dark and I cried.

I don’t think I’d ever been so overwhelmingly alone in my life.

I wanted to shout.

You said that you’d love me no matter what,

but you and Father couldn’t accept that two strangers of the same sex could now legally wed one another.

What do you think would happen if I told you that it’s a woman’s love that I prefer?

And it hurts to write this.

These are thoughts that I’d never dared to record

even for myself.

Sitting here in study hall

is super awkward

because I definitely want to cry right now.

I want to shout.

I want to demand answers.

Is who I love really so vile?

But, really, I just want to keep living my life.

So like everyday before this

I’ll keep it inside.

I’ll sit in my car in the dark and cry.