Gay
Performed at Lincoln High School’s annual slam poetry competition, then at Verslandia, Portland’s youth slam poetry championship, won 4th place, April 2024
I look gay.
I step out onto this stage, and to your friend, you say,
“Oh shit, another lesbian with something to convey.”
Her clothes are in disarray
and it looks like she chopped her hair yesterday,
but let’s listen to this queer preach anyway.
I look gay.
I got rid of my long locks in an act of self-rebellion,
an F U to every Tom, Dick, and presumptuous Helen
who would dare to tell me that my hair is what makes me one in a million,
now I wouldn’t dare admit that I wake up every morning looking like a hellion.
I look gay.
I hate how when I walk through the hallway,
dozens of assumptions are made on my natural toupee,
but if my mane were flowing like an Ardennais,
you wouldn’t double-take, only look away.
I look gay.
Men buy red spray paint in bulk to draw a target on my mop,
they gawk, and they stare (as if they’re the ones to talk)
I can hear them whisper in their stupid little flocks
how can you get rid of what makes you hot?
I look gay.
I was babysitting a little girl the other day
when she points at my do and exclaims that I look like a boy.
No way.
Five seconds pass, I don’t know what to say,
only two syllables come out, “OK.”
I look gay.
Part of me regrets cutting my cut,
Another part hates that my mind won’t shut up,
I wish that people would think I’m enough,
why does my identity feel like handcuffs?
I look gay.
At the ripe age of twelve, to my parents, I came out,
They never quite understood what all the fuss was about,
how every June, we run through the streets, we holler and we shout,
It was always their fear that I would stand out.
I love myself, don’t get me wrong,
I chose this look, this look is strong,
I only wish that men wouldn’t stare for so long,
what is a woman if she doesn’t belong?