Good at Bleeding

freeverse on lesbianism and being in heteronormative spaces against my will

me at lake superior

To swim upstream is to swim alone. I’m going back to the beginning, to the root of all desire. I’m a lesbian and that’s where I belong, where every woman catches my eye: old, young, pretty, ugly, fat, skinny, mediocre, outstanding. All of them glimmer like quartz in a stream — mirrors, coins, broken glass, pearls, memories and premonitions. Beautiful, familiar, dangerous. Strangers, mothers, daughters, sisters, friends, lovers, omens, curses, blessings. In the midst of it all, I kneel and I pray.

I think God’s ripping me apart.

They can sense it — the girls, I mean. They ripple and turn their backs on me like water filling in gaps, and I understand: I look at myself and I feel the spark of threat in the scrape of my boots against the ground, in the devotion I slave over and the deep cut of my laugh. Not really a woman, not really much of anything. Negative space. Blinding light. If I think about it too hard, I’m tempted to contain myself. If I think about it too hard, I’m tempted to curl into myself and disappear, a beetle surrounded by butterflies: glimmering gossamer wings shining in the sun. I’m technicolor, rounded and ancient, scarab body set in gold. I scuttle along the ground. It’s only unbearable sometimes.

I step into the world and it cleaves apart. I step into the world and it batters me down. I step into the world looking for God in everyone I meet, and I find everything. I step into the world looking for you in everyone I meet and I find nothing. I should have given up by now but I can’t. I’ve dug with a shovel. Dug with my hands. My cuticles peel. My fingernails splinter. Still, I look. My love knows no end. Neither does my grief. Such is life: lesbians don’t half-ass anything.

I would like to be considered safe. I understand that time has given me teeth and I’m the sort of ink that can’t be blotted out, but take a chance — let me pour into you, let me bend to you, let me set the bar a little higher. I’ll be your stranger, your sister, your best friend, your neighbor, your lover and sworn enemy. I’ll be your fixer, your doer, the knock on your door, the nail in your coffin. Whatever you want. Show me a man who moves through the world with this much intention. Show me a man who’s this good at bleeding.

I’ll probably need stitches soon.

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