So I was contra dancing again last night (without all the juniors and seniors, because they were at the semi--including Alan and Kate--so it was only me and Alan's old girlfiend, who I don't feel like making up a name for right now...). It wasn't as much fun without the usual upperclassmen crowd, but it was OK. OK, so maybe I missed flirting with the guys from our group, and I always had to find someone to dance with when they weren't there. My problem was I really wanted to ask the girls to dance. There were so many pretty girls there! I couldn't stop looking at one... Anyway, I couldn't really ask one to dance because:
On the way home from our first "Pippin" rehearsal, Alan and his girlfriend--we'll call her Kate--sit in the backseat talking, and I'm in the middle row of the minivan next to my three-year-old brother.
I keep repeating in my head, "I'm gay, I'm gay, I'm gay..."
It stops me from thinking. Maybe it makes my gayness feel like a lie when it's used as a... denial mechanism? Painkiller? Thought-stopper?
She's so pretty.
Golden hair tied back effortlessly,
But it still glows with neatness:
Could that hair not be pretty?
And her eyes--big innocent eyes
In a face full of hope and gentle curves and naivete.
I don't even know her.
Her face is a jumbled, sleep-blurred snapshot.
I bump on the dark green seats and stare at her unmoving golden hair.
I just saw her this morning, and bam.
This poem had a huge effect on me, even though I'm an atheist. It's such a wonderful poem, though... It's from the book "True Beleiver" in the "Make Lemonade Trilogy" by Virginia Euwer Wolff. It's written entirely in poems. In it, the main character falls in love with her old friend, Jody, and she later finds out he is gay, and her two friends, Myrtle and Annie, become fanatic Christians (just so you know the background for the poem):
I officially hate my school’s librarians. If I’m ever a librarian I’ll let kids go on chat sites after school, on their own time. Especially someplace like Oasis. That’s very important for queer and questioning high school kids. OK, so here’s what happened:
On Tuesday afternoon, I went in the library after school to go look at Oasis and relax a bit. I looked around a bit at the posts and stuff like I usually do. So I was on Oasis, and the school librarian there suddenly goes,
I don't feel much like posting about my life right now, so here's another song I wrote last summer (it's called "It's Nothing"):
In the way that you walk
In the line of your face
In the twang of your talk
In the black of your eye
In the curve of your hair
In the way that you sigh
In the hang of your clothes
In the look of your smile
Once upon a time, not so long ago, I was a preteen. And, like so many other preteens, I wondered a lot about love and why in the world people would want to have sex anyway. With my parents fighting every so often, I wondered why my parents loved each other. To reassure myself that they did love each other and just out of curiosity, I decided to ask each of them--when they were alone with me--what they loved most about the other.
I'm so bad at being closeted. I'm just reflecting on my past few months of closetedness, and it makes me squirm to think of how many close escapes I've had with coming out to homophobic people.
I think the worst one was a few weeks ago, when the music department had a field trip to go see a show. There were some pretty hot people starring in it, and their hotness became a topic of conversation on the bus ride home. All of us girls went on about how hot one of the lead guys was, and then the lone guy in our vicinity of the bus--we'll call him Fred--commented, "Those girls were pretty hot, too," but by then the conversation had moved on to other things.
You look beautiful
In you seashell-pink button-down shirt
And old gray pants:
Your hair touches on your shoulders,
And your clothes fold around you,
Comfortable with your body,
Highlighting your body.
As if I had any doubt that I loved you.
"How does it look?" Your eyes have a question in them.
Is it something more...?
Don't even go down that road, girl,
Don't even think about it.
"It looks really good. You have to get it."
Saturday, January 1, 2005
I’m back from my vacation-frenzy of travel and Christmas. Happy New Year, everyone! I could blab on for hours about everything that’s happened, or I could just let my thoughts jump randomly around…
So I went contra dancing last week, and at the dance there was this lesbian couple. And even as I was dancing with the guys in our group and flirting with them (I really have to stop flirting with people I don’t like romantically. This has suddenly come up, as I’ve never really flirted before and now I’m worried I’ll be leading this one guy on…), I knew that I was really jealous of those two girls. I wanted a girlfriend much more than a boyfriend. And thinking about it now, that’s still true.
Alright. I've decided to post my Alan poetry collection. I wrote these last spring, when I was way in love with him. It's all poetry about a girl dealing with unrequited love for a guy--I know that. But I figure by other people's posts, most people here have dealt with unrequited love here, and a lot have fallen in love with their best friends. I would appreciate comments, too. :)
Oh, and during April of this year, Alan started going out with one of my friends. (They're not together now...)
My aunt lives in the same town as me, and every so often I sleep over her house. Usually we have a great evening and talk until late about my life and hers. In the mornings, we have a lazy, late breakfast and I get home before noon.
We had been planning on last Friday for months, and I was really excited for it. Actually, it was one of the only things getting me through the week. I was going to spill out my whole heart to her, tell her about how I’m questioning and how confusing it is and such.
I think I’m trying to hide from sexuality right now. Last week, questioning thoughts were an undertone in my mind all day and every day (FYI, the short story about Alan is that he’s my close friend that I’m in love with who doesn’t love me back):
“Well, I can’t be a lesbian—I had this huge crush on Alan, and it’s still there, though I try to pretend it isn’t. Besides, how would Alan react if, after all this, I told him I was a lesbian? But what if I liked Alan just because there was no other option for me when I only thought about guys? All my other guy-crushes were brief, but the crush on Alan started when I hit puberty…
This is a song I wrote last summer. It's a little innocent, but oh well. It tears up my heart whenever I think of the music, though.
And then we'd be together
It would work out, you'd see
We'd always be together
Whatever that would be
You'd hold my hand, together
It would work out, I'd see
Forever and forever
You love me
Forever and forever
And we'd be free