I would like to be
a bit more toward normal, ordinary, unnoticed
because when we hold hands
bubbles appear above their heads
they say without moving their mouths
she’s a lesbian?
what a shame.
a terrible loss
I bet her father sexually abused her
surely some man really mistreated her
don’t you remember how strange she was as a kid?
Do you think she watched me closely when we went swimming as teenagers? Gross!
I always thought she looked at me in a weird way. didn’t you?
I feel uncomfortable around her, (she’s not like us).
And so I do not
book double rooms in some hotels
for the stares of receptionists cleave my good intention into bitter twine
I do not cup your hand in mine on every street
sometimes I let go, when I see a certain type of glance
I see their flickering of disgust
read like braille, the unsaid words
Disgusting waste of a female!
Around their pursed ashen mouths
as they talk about their dishonest children
as they talk about their cheating boyfriend’s and husband’s
the new grandchild, the latest form of contraception you
don’t even have to take it every day.
Even Plath and Sexton might have
raised an eyebrow and shuddered it was
so deeply entrenched to be judging even among
fine minds. When I read about you Radcliffe
I clutched the paper so tightly I thought I tore
your very sentiments out of print into my
aching lonesome chest.
I wear my hair long as a justifying act
I don’t use communal changing rooms
in case you think I’m looking at you, or worse, why
aren’t you looking? Why didn’t you desire me? IS
a woman who loves another woman supposed to
be the poster child? I don’t want my photo published
next to your intolerance and dissatisfaction in
your moldy marital beds just leave me well alone
I’m doing my thing, it’s not part of yours
don’t flatter yourself, just don’t flatter yourself
you’re not my type.
I know what you think, when I say I’m a feminist
you think; well those types usually are
I want to buy you flowers and bring them to your office
I want to propose a wedding no-one would attend
because people don’t think we’re the same as they are
we’re just girls who haven’t met the right guy
wounded, unnatural birds with confused identity
our parents lament us like Thalidomide babies born
without limbs, bespoken to no-one
if they could, they wouldn’t talk about us at all.
I couldn’t go to some countries, with you on my arms
they’d stone us for who we are
and I’d carry the stones in my mouth and walk into a lake
before I expressed my shame
my shame at being natural
and not quite
natural enough for