Understanding My Sexuality

My chest has the compiled list of the things I want most 

A detailed description of their face, to the color of their eyes

To the sparkle in their teeth

I’ve fallen for the way she looks at me to the way he disagreed with me 

But according to him, my sexuality is not a “thing.”

I’m either gay or I’m not. 

So tell me why it feels wrong to call myself either 

My friends wonder why I’m closeted, and they don’t judge  

But it’s harder when I’m being chased by the repetitive opinions I've been hearing since I was 14 

The echo of being inadvertently called a sex addict 

And to those who know me, that’s laughable 

My sexuality doesn’t change according to who I’m with

It doesn’t mean I cheat 

It doesn’t mean that I fall out of fascination just as quickly as I fall in, 

It doesn’t mean that I’m more prone to losing interest 

It means that if I fall for you. 

I fall for the way you can never take things seriously. It means that I am captivated by the way you laugh. Or the way you hold my hand. 

It means I look forward to your lame jokes to the way your ears turn red when you say that’s what she said. 

So when he asked me if I was bi before naming a list of “scientific facts” that pointed to it not being an actual sexuality. 

I opened my mouth and said I was straight just to stop the noise. 

And it felt like the biggest lie I’ve ever told. 

I now understand that who I’m with is nobody’s fucking business. 

Because my chest has the compiled list of the things I want the most. 

And whether they were a man or a woman, has never really mattered. 

It doesn’t mean I’m out to get some

It doesn’t mean I’m desperate. 

I’m not confused. 

I’ve never understood myself more.