“Sexualities for Sale!” reads the sign.
As my arms fly to the door knob, my feet drag across the threshold.
Organized hangers neatly lined up amongst clothes no one color the same.
The isles twist and turn, divide and dead end.
Eyes first fall on jeans and sweater matching straightness.
Skinny jeans whisper, “Look, we fit.” They hug me reassuring.
Sweater cut low, fabric easy swallowing.
Still, it itches places hidden under over sized sleeves.
Try the store’s other end; find my homosexuality in a gown
Feeling gorgeous just like being straight did not.
Still, the one size fits all skirt will lead to trips not strides.
Straps are falling off my shoulders pinning arms down.
So I change into heteroflexible blouse and soft skirt.
And the grip of the blouse is so gentle; it’s never too tight and it’s never too loose.
And the skirt still has space left for moving my legs without prancing.
But I do one more twirl for the mirror; it’s plastered to my legs.
So I switch out the skirt to size homoflexible.
And the skirt seems to dance as it twirls for the mirror like I do.
But the rainbow of colors so tangled that people might just be confused.
And so doubt will sneak out of back pockets I never had realized it had.
Instead return to bisexuality’s classic sundress.
Cannot confuse with nothing fancy but never plain.
The colors gentle; fabric smooth.
But even though it’s saying nothing wrong, it isn’t saying much at all.
Seeing my time that is now running out as I reach for just queer on the hanger in back.
Sweatshirt and sweatpants are gentle and kind on my fabric burned skin.
Only I look in the mirror and wonder when comfort feels beautiful.
Now that I’ve run out of time, I will place good old queer on the counter; I always have returned it later.
– India Dixon, The Agnes Irwin School, Class of 2018