3am Stream of Consciousness: Coming Out

I've been struggling with my identity lately, and I guess I just really needed to let out all of my thoughts... It's incoherent. It's unplanned. It's just me talking to myself about myself.

Wow. That was…wow.  

A woman so unwomanly…

Becomes womanly so fast, with kisses, and hand-holding, and falling asleep on my breast. Curled like a child against me, finding warmth and embrace for the first time.

And I, who have been with so many, curled like a child against so many, held so many…I discover a new intimacy; one unlike any before. Indescribable comfort and happiness and surprise wrapped up in a look, a touch, a smile. Her smile, set in such an unlikely face.

Strange attraction, not my usual, and for her, the first.

Whirlwind romance came from nowhere. Started with an accidental “that look” months ago, blossomed to bumping shoulders, touching elbows, rubbing knees. Then one Friday night, an accidental meeting at a stranger’s party. Hands are held. Kisses  exchanged (and some tongue).

Next night. Saturday night. A dance. Awkward eyes meet awkward smiles and awkwardly moving closer. An awkward peace-offering of a few of her skittles as she awkwardly takes a seat beside me.

Rainbow colored, so appropriate.

Finding excuses to touch each other, resting knees on inner thighs beneath the table, people around us catching on, surprise and envy and excitement. And us, oblivious and yet so aware of it all.

After party…hands are held…spin the bottle is played. She’ll only kiss me.

She hasn't kissed many people, she confides. I squeeze her hand.

People stumble off to bed, leaving us alone with a couch and some blankets. And each other. We can’t get enough of each other.

Unbelievable that she’s never really kissed, never really had sex or fooled around. She’s so good. We’re so good. 

We’re women. We know what one another wants, what we don’t want, our limits. 

Tumble and laugh and kiss and lock eyes for hours. So much happiness. So much lust.

Until the sun is rising and we’re both exhausted and she curls into my side. A woman, truly, despite her appearances.

We sleep.

We wake up before everyone else. She needs a smoke.

She returns and I take my turn, curled up on her chest. We talk about nonsense and us and our fears. Spiders and ladybugs and childhood.

And spend a day together, out and about with our hangover clothes and faces and hair and not caring who sees because we’re all so cool and so queer.

End of the day. Reluctantly we part ways. Now the thinking begins.

 

----

My identity. Something I've been struggling with.

Once upon a time an attempt to be straight. Morphed to an honest belief that I am bi. Now my reality is challenged. Am I a lesbian?

But I've been a sex addict for years. I've slept with so many men, so many women. But mostly men. But always getting off to the thought of women.

A doubt in my expression in the back of my mind for years of my life comes to the front and pounds. POUNDS.

Pounding in my ears and my eyes and my throat and my tongue and moving into my heart, my gut, my crotch.

Pain. A twisting pain. I've always been so fem. But never really embraced it. Always hated wearing dresses. Always loved short hair and wanted to chop mine off.

Fear has kept it long. Fear that men will stop wanting me in excess.

My best friend (and part-time lover) tells me she has always wondered, and speculates that I have been a sex addict out of compensation for what I've been missing.

Is she right?

It feels right, maybe?

I need help. I’m afraid, confused, conflicted, and hurting.

But all while feeling liberated and happy and filled with butterflies and  -rainbows-.

I've never known myself. I've always known that.

But now my entire existing being is in conflict and feels foreign. There’s someone inside of me, pounding to get out, to feel the sun on his or her face. They want to come out.

I guess I know why they call it “coming out” now.

But is it supposed to feel like you’re birthing an adult through your chest?

 

I think I’m figuring it out. I guess I’ll find out. I guess … I might finally be free?

Author's Note

It's incoherent. It's unplanned. It's just me talking to myself about myself.
I know the grammar and sentence structure is atrocious, but I left everything exactly how it came out of my brain.

Reviews

[Sami Khalil]

I've never known myself. I've always known that.
A nice poem . I like this line the most.