Why is it so much easier to be queer in my poems?
2023 resolutions & thoughts
Not being super close to most of my family normally doesn’t bother me, but this holiday season was harder for whatever reason. It’s a weird thing that a lot of (queer and trans) writers have to reckon with, right? Why it’s easier to write the truth than ask your brother out loud to please call you the right name.
The question of whether or not I should “come out” to more of my family was sprung on me with very short notice this year and my body did not react well to that. As far as my day to day life is concerned, “coming out” isn’t really something I worry about. At home my gender(lessness) doesn’t matter, doesn’t cross my mind. In public, it is fairly obvious that there’s not a single shred of cisheteronormativity in me. My friends and colleagues are mostly queer and/or exceptionally amazing allies. This in itself is a privilege, and something I’ve been lucky enough to cultivate through years of learning how to establish boundaries.
When this potential issue came up, I started writing through my thoughts like I usually do (shout out to years of therapy). My first instinct was how I could turn it into a poem. My second was a perzine. This was troubling to me. It felt like a total Diane “Good Damage” moment (Bojack Horseman S6E10). And I think any moment that feels like it’s out of a Bojack episode is reason for concern.
I did not end up having “the conversation,” safety being my biggest concern. I did not end up writing the poem, either. I had a real life conversation with my partner and talked through the actual material implications both, unfortunately lose-lose, options would have on my wellbeing.
If a poem or essay or whatever comes out of all this headache in a few weeks, that’s fine by me. But in the new year, I am going to prioritize living my life first, and writing about it second. When my dad died, right in the middle of 2020, I didn’t necessarily have a life to live. I wrote dozens and dozens of poems about it. Two decades of built up baggage spilled everywhere and I couldn’t stop it. While I recognize the role those poems played in the grieving process, I do not want to live in that mindset anymore.
I’m not advocating for not writing personal poems, or for immediately going to your living family members and telling them everything you wish you’d said sooner, because again, sometimes that’s the worse option.
In the new year, I want to be more conscious of what I’m putting myself through while writing. I want to read more QTPOC work. I want to let myself write shitty first drafts (carryover from last year’s resolutions). I want to be more authentically myself, which gets easier the longer time goes on. I want to figure out how to reconcile with my biggest question at the moment: Why is it so much easier to be queer in my poems than in a family member’s living room? The obvious answer is homophobia and transphobia, but it’s not as if those are absent from the internet.
Queer fam, if you have thoughts, I’m definitely open to hearing! Comments are open.
<3
PS- I’m guest editing a folio over at ANMLY on trans joy. Check out the call for subs here. Let’s write some happy shit in 2023.