More than a Query.

[shawnaree]

You ask, ashamed to have to,
but you have to be sure, you have to know. You have to ask.
You Have To.
You say in whispers, with idon'tmeantooffend
hidden in the cracks of every phrase.
You breathe a sigh of... relief? when I answer,
No. I am not.
But still, a question lingers. You're afraid to ask.
I'll fill you in, strangely, broken. Afraid to say,
knowing how you think of me, and how
you will think of me, ifIsayIt.

I am queer. Strange. Different.
I think on my feet when I stand on my head.
I am queer, and yet not so much queer.
Queer is not my identity.
It is not my label.
Queer is a part of how I think
Queer is a part of how I act .
It is a word among many other words,
I use, for your sake, because
I know, I know who I am. What I am.
And you just-don't-get-it.

Queer describes for you this place
between my ears, between my legs
Queer explains away the clothes
haircut, and the strange way I punctuate
the space between Suck, my,
and Cock.

Queer helps you deal with the insecurity,
you can understand me, it, my
difference of vantage point,
my slanted perspective.
Queer helps you put me in a box,
like a magician's assistant, ready to be
Cut In Half, all for the sake of
Pink and Blue. But I don't wanna be
your cheerleader.

Queer doesn't help me check the box
you want me to. Queer doesn't help me
take away the turning in my stomach
when Gwen tells me this [box]
is all that you'll let me be.

And I guess it doesn't help you either.
You'll always stumble over
what it is you say I am.

And you'll never know what to call me.
You'll always have a question,
and I can't guarantee my answer
will always be the same.