It started with that first girl

And I remember because of her orange hair

And the way my sister freaked when I said the girl was beautiful

And I started listening more, paying attention

While secretly coloring outside the lines

Overheard the speeches

The 1960s values, myths and fears

Trying to find the difference between conservative and close minded

While church became painful, and I cried every Sunday

And my friends’ boyfriends called me fag

And my brother called my kind perverted, the real molester

And my mother could have gay friends

Just not gay family members

And I became a pornographic fetish, an image

In the minds of millions

But I’m not my sexuality, and I’m not simply flesh

Others want to put us in boxes

Straight, gay, lesbian

This gender obsession

And I can’t just love someone

Regardless of identification

Their voices become harder to shut out

Sadness and anger turn to fear and depression

Dreams of car accidents, and going to sleep

Bloody mouths and missing teeth

And I wonder if those three months of therapy were worth anything

Because she’s right, and eyeliner’s cheaper than antidepressants

Rebellion’s a dirty word when it comes to this kind of thing

But when those closet walls are pushing in, suffocating

I consider a brand, a tattoo that’s empowering

Pink and purple triangles, to help me remember

That I am not sick

And I am not wrong

And God

Wherever he/she is

Doesn’t hate me