The Queerest Person I Know
When I say you are the queerest person I know,
I mean that you gave me everything you had and then some.
Even when you were spoon less, burnt out,
You left the door to your bedroom open.
I love you in soundscapes.
When I say I miss you, it plays like the inflection of your voice when you’re talking to other
people.
I listen, in reverent silence, knees quaking against the hard pew,
Fingering cold plastic beads,
Grateful that there will always be more people left to love you.
I love you through drive throughs,
High, ordering too much Taco Bell.
The way every block has a different rhythm, a different smell, a different guy on every corner
yelling about something.
I wish you calm, I wish you tevas on sun-warmed rocks and all the other gay granola fantasies
you finally get to fulfill.
But when I picture you, your voice is in perfect harmony with the noise of the city,
The scuttle of the night guys against the stairwell of the warehouse,
Your elegant gait across filthy sidewalks.
You explain some car reference or show me an old record as I nod along and think, “God, you’re beautiful.”
I’ve never been in a car going faster in my life,
But somehow with you I am completely safe.
You have one hand on the stick shift, the other in mine.
Your eyelashes stretching for miles against my cheek,
Or the way you’d nibble my arms and hips and go, ‘Niceee’.
Your fingers fiddle with whatever old video game you’re playing as we skate through winding
topics in the ADHD maze we’ve mastered in the 10,000 hours we’ve logged on the phone.
I love you like when you left me in the car to pick up the take out,
Surrounded by the artifacts of you I reach for like you’re a tangible thing I can hold after you’re gone.
Our bodies have touched so many people,
Why is it that yours has left such an impression?
Carve the curve of your back against rough hotel sheets into my gravestone.
I can see you now, rolling your eyes at me from the driver’s seat,
‘You’re so dramatic, mi amor.’
I’ve been on my fair share of dates,
Fancy ones, with theater tickets and coat checks,
But the best date I’ve ever been on was to the 7-11 around the corner.
We bought slurpees, parked on a side street, and put the backseat down.
You laid with your head in my lap, as we looked up at the sky,
To where the stars would be if it wasn’t for the light pollution.
You are the queerest person I know, because we bonded through the shared pain of our
experiences.
When you described your first crushes,
I recognized the unrequited love in your voice,
Your infatuation like a tent you pitch your whole personality to.
For the first time, someone was describing an experience I’d had in the exact words I’d use to
describe it.
I wonder if I’d come across you,
Drunk in a snowbank,
If I’d have been strong enough to help you up,
Or if I’d simply make space and crawl in beside you.
If I had a choice,
I’d live inside the queer utopia we created,
On the perfect weather day in the middle of June.
We’d wander the East Village,
Popping into thrift stores,
Browsing at The Strand.
You bought me a graphic novel,
And we spent too much money on a hotel room, fancy cocktails at Mood Ring,
But we both knew we were biding our time.
We’d be far happier if we were the only people for blocks and blocks,
Than we were in whatever fancy sushi restaurant.
This was never about anyone recognizing us as a couple.
I was already seen.
You say to be queer is to love without consumption,
Which is a beautiful idea in theory,
But in reality, it means practicing the art of letting go.
I’ll never forget the day you said you didn’t have it in you to keep our connection going.
I listened to ‘Do What You Gotta Do’ by Nina Simone on repeat,
As I packed up my room.
You said the best way I could love you and myself was by going to therapy.
Whenever I asked what you wanted, you’d say,
‘I just want to be at peace.’
I’ve never had a long term relationship I could really be proud of,
But if you broke me open by the zipper of my spine,
You’d see that you were imprinted onto the small of my back.
When I say you’re the queerest person I know,
It’s not about who you fuck.
Despite every conversation we’ve had about butch lesbians with mustaches and kindhearted
twinks with attachment issues and boy smell and girl smell and everything in between,
It was never about picking a side.
Rather, queerness is the worlds we build together,
When the milestones ahead are nonlinear,
We show each other the love we weren’t.
You wake me from a nightmare covered in cold sweat,
And it’s so tiny, innocuous, loving in the mundane way you have always loved me,
That it’s exactly the kind of thing I will tell my nieces and nephews to look out for someday.
Find someone who loves you in all your queerness.
