If I only had the words...

Harvey Milk has a famous quote. "If a bullet should enter my brain, let the bullet destroy every closet door." A bullet did enter his brain, but there are still closet doors. Numerous bullets and knives and hurtful words have entered a thousand brains and hearts and minds and yet, thousands of doors remain closed, locked, and bolted with no peephole. How long can we go on like this? How many young lives are we willing to sacrifice so that we can pretend that diversity doesn't exist? How many more times will a GLBT youth have to commit suicide before we get the message? Why isn't zero enough?

If I only had the words to answer these questions.

If I only had the words to tell the family of Tyler Clementi how incredibly sorry I am. How words can't make this better, but they're all I have right now. How even as I sit here writing this, I struggle to find the next sentence, the next phrase, knowing that no matter how eloquent I am, it won't make any difference. Tyler Clementi will still be gone because someone else was to afraid to face the differences and learn. Learn to not only accept diversity, but embrace it. Revel in it. Love it.

Learn to love not despite differences, but because of them.

If I only had the words to show people. Show them that the only thing they have to fear is fear itself. If I only had the words to make everything okay. To make every day a day of awareness. To make every day a day where people were ashamed when someone says, "That's so gay," rather than just during Ally Week. To make every day a day where people felt safe and secure and happy no matter who they are.

If only.

But Harvey Milk is famous for something else too, the Hope Speech. "You gotta give them hope." And I hope that's why he's remembered. I hope that's why Tyler Clementi will be remembered. Not for the way they died, not for why they died, not for their sexuality. But maybe for the people they were, the beliefs they had, the good things they did. Maybe because, as tragic as both deaths were, someone might have learned something from them. I don't know what that something is, but maybe it leads to a few less hurtful words and a few more open doors. In the words of a famous song, All you need is love.

Untitled (I wrote it over the summer.)

"Hold up. Don't you dare ask me 'what' I am. You can ask me who I am, because I am a person, but if you're referring to my sexuality then asking 'Who are you?' is still wrong because I am more than just a lesbian, more than just a straight person, more than just a bisexual. But since you want to know what I am, let me tell you: I am the person that doesn't give a fuck what you think. I am the person that can be whoever and whatever she wants to be despite your oh-so-valuable input. I am the girl that is confused about her sexuality, but no matter which gender I like, I will never like you."

Those words were thought today, not spoken.

Those words will never be regretted, never be apologized for, never hurt anyone's feelings.

Those words will never open anyone's mind to new possibilities, never get rid of prejudices, never make a difference.

And so the girl who thought those words but did not speak them faces a question: which is worse?

There is the cloud, viewed from above. Zoom in. Green tree tops, birds flying, branches whizzing past. Hit the ground. There they are. One in an over-sized T-shirt and loose fitting shorts. Clunky flip-flops. Hair frizzing out around her face, making a triangular frame for the round nose, hazel eyes, and full lips. Across from her stands the other. The other wears a tank top, cleavage showing in abundance. Shorts are tight, leaving nothing to the imagination. And the blonde hair is pulled back into a pony tail, leaving the round nose, hazel eyes, and full lips of the other open to attack.

"What are you?" the other asks the girl. "Not that I care or anything," she adds quickly. The girl reels inwardly. The question, and therefore its answer, entails so much more than just sexuality and yet that is all the other wants to know. Hobbies, friends, family, challenges, opinions are not important, not worth knowing, pail in comparison to the ultimate question of who the girl wants to have sex with.

The girl wants to lose it. Wants to enter into a blind rage, wants to scream and yell and kick. Throw a tantrum about the injustice of it all. But instead she simply gathers her thoughts, promising herself she'll lose it next time. "I don't know," she answers, both honestly and dishonestly.

Those words were said today, not thought.

Those words will always be regretted, always be apologized for, always hurt someone's feelings.

Those words will never open anyone's mind to new possibilities, never get rid of prejudices, never make a difference.

And so you who read these words and might not speak them are faced with a question: which is worse?