How hard it is to come out to yourself.
I have no word to put on it. I cannot say it, I cannot even think it. I don’t know.
I am in a lesbian bar, surrounded by lesbian women. They don’t know about me. I don’t know either. But I sit with them and they laugh with me, and I understand them. Their words, their jokes, their feelings. They say “us, lesbians”. They think I am one of them. If they think that, then it might… I might… maybe. Right? If they agree, then maybe I could. Maybe I can.
How hard it is to come out to yourself. To give the verdict, to admit, to confess.
I am asked about my gender. Why? Is there a word they are expecting? I have none. It doesn’t mean anything. That I changed the name I go by, that I changed the way I look, that I never correct anyone. They say the word for me. I am neither, I am both. Is that what they understood? Is that what I have been showing? If it is, then maybe…
How hard it is to come out to yourself. It will be real if I say it. It will be real, if I say it.
There is no word for it. I simply have no interest in this, with anyone, ever. It has been years. It will be years more, it will be forever, yet the word, it’s not for me. I am not. I do not know. “You are ace, aren’t you?” Aren’t I? Am I? Sure I fit the definition, sure I share all their experiences and feelings, but it doesn’t mean, it doesn’t mean…
How hard it is to come out to yourself.
I am scared. I cannot say. I’ll let you. If you say so, if you see it, if you recognize me, put the word in my mouth. The mirror stays silent when I need it to talk, I will be in your eyes before I am in mine. If you accept it, then maybe. Maybe.
