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Monday, December 28, 2015

To The Girl Who Found My Bisexual Poetry Offensive & Triggering



I hope you get heartburn from all the hatred you’ve swallowed.
Hope you never enjoy a funny clip from Ellen
the one where
puppies
pop bubbles
blown by babies
That Orange Is The New Black gives you night terrors
I hope you get night terrors about Nicholas Cage
Where you are Nicholas Cage
And they are not going to make another National Treasure
I hope your treasures have a cold
That flowers smell like violet caskets
That Sunday mornings taste like bruised grapefruits
Memories sink beneath the wrinkles on your face
Your forehead quicksand saturated with furrowed brow
I hope you fart during every date
I hope you be yourself on every date
That you’re as unashamed of your homophobia
At every poetry slam, job interview and hair salon
I hope the world can see you for who are
Who you want to be
That you end up with people just like you
Crack beside a mirror
broken outlined across your face
But as much as I’d love to crumble you like ruptured horizon
Dust you with darkness
Wedge apologies into your throat
I hope no one breaks your face
Dents your smile
Denies you the right to raise your babies
because of who you have them with
Won’t marry you because Jesus says you’re a bad match
I hope when you tell your parents why this week swallowed you
They don’t defend Wednesday's teeth
Call hate speech a second language you just don’t speak
Put a page count on your life story
I pray none of your days are numbered.
That you are never the gay kid tied to the fence
The rainslicked highway
That no one cares more about you in a headline then a classroom.
Your skin should never thicken into polished oak
Doorknob tumors colonize your tongue
It took me nineteen years to hatchet down
The locks I put on my own happiness
To write that poem
To write I am not straight
I am a sunburst ray pirouetting off anything that can love me
That my love is a ballerina rumbling inside my throat
That my heart doesn’t sketch in lines
It is a 3D printer
Sometimes humming about women
She looks at me and says,
But that my not have been your intention.
I reply,
No, I meant it to be very gay.
I hope this poem is triggering.
I wrote it to gun down memories of outlining myself in shadow
To shoot the stranger in a room where everyone knew my name
I wanted each stanza a massacre
Because I was the person who didn’t want to hear these poems.
My family changed temples when our rabbi came out.
I didn’t support gay marriage in high school,
Thought lesbians were fucked up
Because I didn’t want to be fucked up
Because I didn’t want the world to have another reason to make me the freak
I was so offended by gay that I refused to realize I was it.
Girl,
I don’t know if this is a letter to you or who I used to be.


But to you both –
I hope you fight for your beliefs
But will be brave enough to change what you believe.
You can’t appropriate oppression.
You       are not under attack
I             am not triggering your hate
It           was spoonfed gunfire in your high chair,
incubated in a crib of Hiroshima
Being gay is not violent
Shoving bullets through your ignorance
Is not violent
It just feels like trauma to realize the ugly duckling was always a swan
Hollow out your chest so there is room for love
Even if it’s the not kind they said was holy
Because all love is holy
I will love you whole-y
With all of myself
even the offensive
triggering
bisexual
parts you hate.

Contact

Ariel is available and interested in anything creative!
For spoken word performances & workshops, web & graphic design, or other writing/film projects please contact via email at arielsob@usc.edu.
New York & Los Angeles work preferred!