Cake: A Poem About Bisexuality

My sexuality is not
a foot in a closet door,
inching in or out one bruised toe at a time.
It’s not an either/or,
one foot in sea and one on shore,
staying true to the land until the tide comes in.
It’s not a promise broken,
a pair of wandering eyes,
nor is it half a disguise
so I can bleed through the veil between worlds
and reap the benefits of each.

My sexuality is not
“having my cake and eating it”,
because surely the point
of having a cake
is to eat it
and though I like red velvet
as much as I like chocolate
or vanilla
I can only have one at a time.

My sexuality is not
a get-out-of-jail free card
not a cheat code to a threesome
nor a litmus test for your sexuality.
It’s not a conversation piece at parties
a flash in the pan fad
on glossy magazine paper,
nor an ornament worn
to impress people over dinner
and left overnight
on the bedside table.

My sexuality is not
a wrong answer,
not a tick in the wrong box
or colour outside the lines,
so when I come to you
with open hands
and show you what I’ve made of myself
don’t draw an X through it
and tell me to see you after class.

Don’t tell me
that I’m only halfway here,
that one day I’ll find something real
and shed my identity like snakeskin.

Don’t tell me
that the world only operates in binary,
that I can’t live my life
between Point B and Point A–
that I’m not straight enough to be straight,
not gay enough to be gay.

I used to spend my time playing goldilocks,
burning mouth and fingers
on things that were never meant for me
but now I’ve found “just right”–
so go ahead and call me an intruder,
let both sides exclude me
for even daring to exist in between–
I don’t care.

My sexuality is light and love
and the freedom to say yes,
it’s knowing exactly who I am
and being proud of it,
and most of all,
my sexuality is none of your fucking business.

 

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