to those who ask

because my first memories are steeped in passive threats and outward danger.

because the community and courts criminalized being gay, and my decisions made me an easy target for both.

because “home” was never safe either.

because the environment demanded the worst version of myself.

because hypocrisy was encouraged and rewarded.

because married men with male lovers were ostracized, while married men with female lovers were protected.

because culturally, women were still the property of men, and it entitled them to enact all manner of violence with impunity.

because openly queer relationships were not seen or welcomed in public spaces.

because when people lived authentically, they were treated as disposable.

because the adults in my life weren’t people i identified with or wanted to model.

because there were no heroes or helpers for someone like me.

because she said his Black queer life didn’t matter, and you agreed when i told you.

because “the wrong side of the tracks” was a literal part of town that the affluent white people curated to “keep safe” from the impoverished and disenfranchised. their very own skid row.

because the number of murder-suicides was slowly climbing.

because men threatened to rape me as punishment or “treatment” of my queerness.

because men raped my friends.

because it’s a small town–with all the implications such a reality brings.

because a small murky pond is full of piranhas.

because dying there was the last thing i wanted.

because it would have killed me.

because if it failed, i’d have finished the job myself.

because despite my knowing this was “the way of the world,” as she so aptly called it, i believed in empathy and knew there were others like me.

because i craved living well.

because i knew a place existed for me.

because i wanted to.