Multicolor
My life is multicolor.
Every friend around me has chosen a stripe on a rainbow flag to declare their intentions. Each one standing proudly with their self-understanding and their newfound confidence in their own lives. Yet, I remain with no color, a flag gifted to me by a friend that includes black and white and only a triangle of color (search up the pride ally flag) as though my friends know I might never claim a flag that declares me a part of the rainbow.
I love them, though. I love it when my best friend brags to me about his boyfriend. I love it when the junior I adopted tells me about her last ex-girlfriend. I love it even when I can't remember their name because they change it every few weeks tells me in detail about how it feels to be attracted to 'everybody' even if I know they probably exaggerate because just because they're pansexual doesn't mean they don't have standards. I love it when my cuddle buddy tells me to calm down because he's not upset that I messed up his pronouns again - he never reminds me, so he thinks it's okay that I forgot (it really isn't okay to me though). I love it when my friend asks me whether her boyfriend would be mad if she kisses a girl. I love it when my senior explains to me how it's possible to not feel any sexual attraction at all and still be in a romantic relationship. I love it even when I can't keep track of names and pronouns and my entire world is swept up in a technicolor rainbow swirl so dizzying that I start to be surprised that my girl friend is dating a guy.
My life is multicolor. I may be uncertain, I might not know who I am or who I'm into, but my friends are whirlwinds of color that will keep me from ever getting bored. They add the color to my life that I didn't know was missing... because those who seek acceptance - whether from others or themselves - are the most likely to give it to those who need it.
her. [wlw reading. gay homosexual reading.]
she is pretty, not because of her physical features, and not by the magazine standard, even though she fulfils those too, but because her nose crinkles when she laughs, and she wears down people with her over-enthusiastic questions, and she wears that one shirt over and over and over again and assures me it was washed last week. she's reading narnia again, because it is her second favourite childhood book and it's june, and she is more open-minded than is probably good for her. she stops more for stray cats than stray dogs, and she follows a sign-language learning blog even though she isn't fluent by any definition in her mother tongue. she puts too much salt on her fries and then always gives them to me. and then we both need water. she hates the wind but she loves the rain, and she takes her coffee with one tablespoon of sugar and then a little more.
Her Name
his name was will
my cover story
the artificial relationship
created to please others
she had many names
she was everywhere
in the soft laugh i hear walking in the hallways
hips touching on the bus
hair running between my fingertips
as I braided her hair
she was the feminine warmth
the kindness
silky gentleness
undeniable strength
