Synesthesia

Romance has always been my favorite genre.

As far back as I can remember, I’ve lived for the sappy clichés: flowers, chocolates, tearful confessions in the pouring rain, all of it. In elementary school, I would spend hours choosing baby names for my future adopted children (I always insisted they would be adopted. The idea of anything else made me uncomfortable) and scouring the Internet for dresses, rings, and décor. As much as I prepared names and future houses to share with my spouse, I always stopped short when I reached the idea of a husband.

I didn’t know why the idea unsettled me. I had friends who were boys, and I enjoyed their company, but I could never imagine myself dancing with them the way lovers did in the movies. Even as I went through countless romance novels, sentimental movies, and love songs, I could never imagine the boy of my dreams in detail. He was always painfully vague, a faceless silhouette of traits that could indifferently apply to anyone in my school.

The answer to this particular question of mine came when I was thirteen, sitting in my eighth-grade ceramics class. I had been friends with Grace for a few years, and I’d even joined this class specifically because I knew she’d be in it. She was extraordinarily pretty, that I’d already known. I’ve heard my fair share of poetic eye descriptions: as blue as the ocean, forest green, molten amber, chocolate brown, but hers were hazel. They were her own shade of nature, and in the light, they fixed on me like sunspots. She was soft and smooth where I was all hard edges, and she had quickly become one of my best friends.

While I tried to create something resembling a pot, I snuck a glance at her. She was beautiful, with clay smudged across her cheek and long auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail. It reminded me of the first time I put on glasses, how the world had sharpened into focus around me.

I remember riding the bus home that day, my heart hammering in my chest as I remembered the word lesbian and everything fell right into place. I know many people who find labels restrictive, but I remember the sudden burst of elation I had—knowing there was a word for people like me, knowing I had a community somewhere out there.

In honor of pride month, and in honor of my friends with similar experiences, I’ve compiled thirteen of my favorite songs by LGBT artists.

“What I Need” by Hayley Kiyoko and featuring Kehlani is easily my favorite sapphic pop anthem. Hayley Kiyoko was one of my inspirations growing up in the closet, and I’ve always been a huge fan of Kehlani, so this song was a dream come true for me! With an addictive beat and painfully relevant lyrics, “What I Need” has a special place in my heart.

“Strangers” by bisexual singers Halsey and Lauren Jauregui describes the specific kind of hardships and heartbreaks that affect women who love women, underscored with a rhythmic bass and devastating vocals.

She doesn't kiss me on the mouth anymore

'Cause it's more intimate than she thinks we should get

She doesn't look me in the eyes anymore

Too scared of what she'll see, somebody holdin' me

– "Strangers" by Halsey, Lauren Jauregui

I played "Daughter" by L Devine on repeat for two weeks straight, and "Safe Places (Acoustic Version)" by Cassidy King made me cry the first time I heard it.

When I was fourteen, I bought my trans friend his first proper binder and delivered it discreetly to him at school so that his parents wouldn’t see it in the mail. I remember how excited he was to cut his long hair, so some of the lyrics in “This Is Home” by aroace and transgender singer Cavetown struck me as particularly poignant. It is a song with heartbreaking lyrics and deceptively cheerful ukulele instrumentals that became wildly popular with trans youth, and it’s not hard to see why.

I’ll cut my hair

To make you stare

I’ll hide my chest

And I’ll figure out a way to get us out of here

– "This Is Home" by Cavetown

A gay friend of mine from high school used to call me all the time to talk about his longtime crush. Those were some of the sweetest conversations I’ve ever had in my life, and “for him.” by gay artist Troye Sivan is a swoon-worthy love song that perfectly captures everything I think my friend was trying to say.

You don't have to say I love you to say I love you

Forget all the shooting stars and all the silver moons

We've been making shades of purple out of red and blue

Sickeningly sweet like honey, don't need money

All I need is you

All I need is you, you

– "for him." by Troye Sivan, Allday

Growing up, I’d never known there was another option than a knight in shining armor. I didn’t know it was possible to want a princess and not a prince. At home, no one talked about it—except my grandparents, who vehemently opposed anything of the sort.

My grandma said it was a sickness.

But it never felt like a sickness to me when Grace held my hand or passed me a note she’d written for me with hearts scribbled in the margin. My heart was lighter than it had ever been, and I wondered how anything so beautiful could ever be a sin. It felt as pure and untainted as anything I’d seen in the movies.

The journey of self-discovery for LGBT youth is very personal. It can be painful and isolating and freeing and everything in between, and listening to musicians with the same experiences is a wonderful way to connect with our community. Happy Pride, everyone!