Or to come in, yell piercingly about dust, and cause everyone to stop what they are doing. Homework, writing, television watching, to sweep the floor as the clock ticks towards 10:30pm. A phonecall, and suddenly her voice is pleasant, happy. She's laughing about something.
I wish I was a thin, pretty daughter. I wish I could be a doctor, and have a rich and handsome boyfriend who also wanted to be a doctor. And we lived in a big house, and I was tidy and organized. Then we will have four kids, and two dogs. All of our friends will be doctors, and professionals.
Instead, I am myself. The reality sinks in. I should probably try to go back while I still can. Even your sister doesn't believe you.
No one believes you, and no one gets it. No one gets queer. No one gets cutting. No one gets writing. No one gets being alone. No one gets zines. No one gets that when you have to talk to someone, you really have to fucking talk to someone. No one gets the fact that you try not to feel like this. No one gets the fact that you try not to be like this. No one gets that when you have to talk to someone, you really have to fucking talk to someone.
On the bus home today I tried to make a list. It looked like this:
Boys I've wanted to kiss:
I spent thirty minutes of the bus ride trying to sift through pieces of my past. Guys who were close friends at one point or another, even crushes. I think there was one boy named Andrew when I was in pre-kindergarten. I drew a face on a red balloon, and after I kissed it, I didn't want to kiss him anymore.
I picked out a guy on the bus who would have been my sister's "type". Independent musician looking. I stared at his ass for the bus ride. I made myself stare at him. I tried to picture us dating, picture us kissing, picture us holding hands. Nothing.
You need to work harder. That's why no one believes you.
Like boys. Like boys. Just find one, and like him. It's so natural for everyone else, so why can't it be that way for you?
Stop crying.
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