the failings of a surgically healed heart | a collection

5 | for the love of mean girls!

the question comes (out)
much of a surprise;
not the result of any one thing, but,
how most things happen,
an accumulation
of small(er) moments:

the first of which,
a straight girl's flirtation with me,
specifically, running her fingertips
up my leg;

the second,
an admission of how fluid my sexuality truly is
which is to say,
more than the icy cold of the girls i spent most of my youth
pining after;

the third.
a face-to-face encounter
with the bathroom mirror
where an older version of myself
reflects:
on my feelings for sanna,
a girl/a friend/a crush
(who saw 13-yr-old-me as a joke)

and the dream i had
of the two of us,
squashed in a bathroom stall
our hands all over each other.
it is here,
(in this heaven of the imagination)
i kiss her so hard.
i forget
to breathe

before that,
is zimmie-
daughter of a family friend,
though not my friend -
and our shared desire
to kiss female lips
which she admits to me
when we are like nine

but in the end,
refers to it as "a phase"
speaks of all the boys she desires far more,
while i am left
missing oxygen from my lungs
with a black hole blooming in my heart;

which means to say,
with less of me to (be) love(d)
and more of myself to be
ashamed of.

and perhaps,
this is why it took me so long to put the pieces together
all these years after the fact
because of this residual shame

but also
because of the african
of my parents
(which is to say, the homophobia)

because of the catholic
of my upbringing
(which, is to say, the homophobia)

because of the use of the word;
queer as an insult
rather than an identity
(which is, again, to say, the homophobia)

in others,
my sexual awakening came the result of girls
who were not kind
to me,
and this is partly the reason
i blocked all these memories
that came with them,
(like the phone numbers of ex-lovers)

but
the other part was the shame i learnt to feel
for liking them,

and so,
i continued on with my life,
until i read somewhere one in five kids are queer-
and being 1 in 5 kids
myself-

wondered which one of siblings it was,
that is until i took a long, hard look in the mirror; and
(like most oblivious protagonists)
discovered it was me
all along

- and still, i question my sexuality all the time. and find i am never sure of who i am.

---

hello guys it's eve. this is the last poem in loving (which is part four of this collection) so i hope you enjoyed it.

i just wanted to mention  JuliSY an avid reader of mine and all round lovely girl has translated "the irony of beauty" on her account to her native tongue of Spanish so if any Spanish speakers are interested in checking it out then do.

Other than that, this is the poem I've been trying to write on my sexuality for some time. It's amongst the main reason/s i really truly felt a need to reconseptualise my poetry because i felt as if i was far too 'declarative' about my sexuality when i was still very unsure and i am still unsure sometimes and that's alright.

- e.v.e  xx