Menu
There’s something in your pulp. It’s been there all along. Now you see it. Now you know it. You are a queer. You tried avoiding it your whole life. You didn’t even have the words, but it started in the changing room. It started with your best friend. Hurried glances, averted eyes, and blushing cheeks. Fluttering heartbeats, shaky hands, parched lips. This is who you are. A person who likes men and women and all those who don’t fit within the binary.
But what does it mean for you to feel this way?
Are you a faggot?
Are you a dyke?
Are you a disappointment?
Maybe you are all of the above, and maybe you are none. Whatever it is, it is. That something is the queerness in your pulp, and you will not be easier to swallow. You aren’t proud yet, but you’ll try.
I am queer, you say. And you (I) are (am) terrified.