… can be exhausting.
Justifying. Explaining. Listening to second hand lies. Of what or who I am, according to those who haven’t bothered to ask me.
I am not queer enough. I am not attracted to enough bodies (why can’t you be pansexual?). Not loving enough, etc. etc.
I live with a man, I play with other men, therefore that must be all I really want. My relationships with women, especially if I do not parade them in front of strangers, must not exist.
What is the point of having a girlfriend, if I don’t take pictures of us kissing naked, for the amusement of, well, mostly the male gaze? Right. Of course.
Tiring. Just simply tiring.
I choose to move past the noise; be myself; love myself.
As those who love me wish me to live.
I might say more later, but this is enough for now.
Thank you for listening.
