Queer, as in not about who you’re having sex with

Said I was someone’s daughter
now I need therapy for a week
hatefully eyeing the dresses hanging up in the wardrobe
minding their own business
can’t throw them out because next week I could love them
as much as I love feeling today rough jeans between my legs
next week I could go out in any skin, any cloth
and scoff
at all the skinny mascs who disbelieve and interrogate
that femininity is queer enough

unknowingly siding with the patriarchy
whilst not addressing their “shit”
I refuse to let it win
and divide us again

next week I could also feel like those fuzzy cloud flowers that scatter in the wind,
not knowing whats up, whats down
feeling like a phony
while holding up a magnifying glass to my upper lip
striving to see just a bit of fuzz
absolutely shattered from feeling so “in between”
scattered to the wind might not be so bad

I honestly did not know there were so many damn boxes
Category: human
what clothes to put on this body
who I truly do care about I swear
so much so I think I’ll lay it down in bed
a quilt over my head, instead
of going out at all

About the author

Alex Campbell is a queer, Audhd writer living in the city of Magan-djin, on the stolen lands of the Turrbul and Jagera people. Alex spends some of their time as an early childhood educator, and hopes to demonstrate to their small scholars, the importance of natural areas and creative expression. Sometimes Alex turns their poems into songs which they sing in local folk -rock band ‘Full Power Happy Hour’.

Photo by Zach Kessinger on Unsplash.