what is love

What is love

baby don't hurt me

don't hurt me

no more.

what is love

baby don't hurt me

don't hurt me

no more.

1:27 am.

it's the midnight club, and

people are starting to get louder.

the ground gets wetter when the sloppy hands kick in.

six-inch stilettos smack the floors, others on their knees over the toilet,

regretting that fifth shot of tequila.

classy.

there's a corkboard filled with numbers to call,

people looking to clean your living room with

pasties on and

wannabe poolboys.

i don't see any pride here,

not the kind i'm looking for anyway.

A few strobe lights flicker,

silhouettes and their shadows dance.

i see them all in a damp cloud of sweat and desperation from

the boys who want to have their first one-night stand with

the pretty girl in the tight dress.

everyone here knows exactly who they are.

they all grew up watching the princesses being saved

and never questioned why she was always so helpless,

and why her hair was

so goddamn long.

they read all those stories

in their rocketship bed sheets

about glass slippers and

fire-breathing dragons.

why couldn't cinderella have been

a damsel in dignity?

there was never a confusing time in their childhood,

they never second-guessed their identity.

everyone here grew up with

pink or blue.

and remind me again

why do colors mean a particular ‘gender’?

there are quiet ‘allies’ here,

quiet to the point where only a dog could hear their patriarchal smashing.

why do i always find myself at these types of places?

is it because the first draft of the world never got revised?

no one came and edited the spots that needed equality?

representation?

we all live here.

on this twisted hunk of rock,

all the gays, straights, queers, and

me.

who cares if i like all types of people?

apparently a lot of old white men,

grumbly grinches.

wake up from the 1960’s Richard, men can wear lipstick and be pretty too.

i don’t want to talk about your white wedding dreams

or your pinterest board

or hear about how you like your latte with an extra shot of injustice.

who cares about patagonia sales and buzzfeed quizzes, because

i don't want to hear it.

because i hear that same thing

every.

single.

fucking.

day.

it's in every rom-com,

all those perfect human barbies

reappearing over and over again, and

the same shitty high school scenes over and over,

it's that first draft over and over,

and over.

it's every look of shame from parents,

every shaking,

disapproving head on the street,

every refusal to put up that rainbow

bumper sticker,

every heart not accepting.

if the world isn't going to revise this, then i'm going to try,

dammit.

i want to sign petitions.

i want to hear about the next march,

and how to actually save the bees.

how to make that vegan cake with gay smeared all over the top

in vegetable butter icing.

i want to know when the primaries are going to happen,

and not wake up to a nuclear war with regret in my chest.

why is my body not okay for the world?

why do i need to wait for a second draft?

you have your husband, your honda,

your perfect orange slices

for your daughters' soccer games.

with pink cups.

what do i get?

i get marriage equality in 2015.

2015.

people were overjoyed, i was in despair.

i get a president who wants to rip apart any last shred of goodness left in this godforsaken country.

why so late, world?

you took too long to revise,

it spread my hope a little too thin.

can people just not fathom a world where they are not on top?

the earth is not in the shape of a pyramid, so

climb down and join the rest of us, Dick.

come and dance with RuPaul and the drag queens,

i bet you won't go back to bingo after a night with us.

what is so difficult to understand,

so incredibly hard to accept?

this is a reminder that we are here,

and staying.

we’re not just going through phases,

we’re going through transitions.

we’re not going to stop wearing too much eyeliner

and those thigh-high black leather boots.

our badges of honor will be equality buttons on our denim jackets

and we will never run out of catchy phrases to paint on signs.

boys are not going to stop kissing boys,

and a new policy won't change a goddamn thing.

it'll make us kiss harder

shout louder

march faster

im marching right now,

but no one is joining me.

2:24 am.

it's past the midnight club's bedtime.

i’ve had my fill of watching straight guys slam their crotches into pencil skirts.

maybe tomorrow the world will be a little brighter.

i think i'm going to try the pussycat club tomorrow.