"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?
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