If You are not a Lesbian, then do you even like Boobs? A compilation of my invisible queerness.

I am dating a man, but sometimes 

I think that if I was dating a woman, maybe people on the street would recognize me as queer.

Am I queer enough to say I’m queer? Or am I a 

poser.

When a man yells from the audience: get those fucking 

allies 

out of our gay commercial

I am just a commercialized ally, trying hard to be

queer.

sometimes i think i haven’t loved enough women to call myself Queer. haven’t fought off enough dudes trying to turn me back. haven’t been invited cause i am not public enough. haven’t been kicked out of enough. haven’t cut off enough family for speaking out the side of they necks. haven’t ate enough pussy. haven’t gone to enough gay spaces. haven’t defiantly held enough hands in the face of potential violence. haven’t bled enough. haven’t felt out of place enough. haven’t been accused of wandering eyes in the locker room enough. haven’t lost enough friends. though i’ve lost enough friends. haven’t had enough rumors spread. haven’t been hated enough.

My hair is what people envy most about me, luscious 

curls 

cascading down my back like a Mozart sonata, it curls around the nape of my neck and past my bra line.

Most days, though, I remember I like

girls.

To like girls, you need an image, and this image is not my hair. Queer ladies need hair 

short. and. sweet. Not a sonata.

How short does my hair need to be until people see that I like 

bra lines

indented into a lover’s back, her soft skin creased within the confines of a societal standard.

The confines of what a woman should be 

has hurt queer women so badly that once they retaliated,

they lost sight of the many ways a woman could be

queer.